THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


POEMS 


WILLIAM   CLEAVER  WILKINSON 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1883 


COPYRIGHT,  1883,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


TROW*S 

PRINTING  AND  BOOKBINDING  COMPANV 

201-213  East  Twelfth.  Street 

NEW  YORK 


QLo 


FRANK   JEWETT   MATHER 


THE  MOST  CHIVALROUS  OF  FRIENDS 


623873 


CONTENTS. 


FORESHADOWINGS I 

"WHERE  THB  BROOK  AND  RlVER  MEET,"  ....  4 

PILGRIMAGE 6 

WHOSE  WAS  THE  BLAME? 8 

MINE  WAS  THE  BLAME 10 

JOHN'S  POEM 13 

THE  WIFE'S  VIGIL 23 

CONSOLATION 27 

A  PICTURE  OF  MEMORY, 3° 

A  DEDICATION, 33 

THE  POET'S  MINE, 35 

NESHOBEE, 36 

THE  VALE  OF  OTTER 38 

THE  ISLAND  OF  TRANQUILLITY, 4° 

THE  NORTHERN  LIGHTS 42 

THE  WOLVES'  FEAST, 44 

THE  SONG  OF  RUNAWAY  POND 49 


vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

AUGURIES, 58 

THE  PREPARATION 60 

OUR  CHRISTMAS  MORN,  .               62 

THB  OLD  YEAR  AND  THE  NEW 64 

A  NEW  YEAR'S  TRIFLE 67 

DEDICATED 69 

IN  AN  ALBUM, 72 

How  WE  CAME  TOGETHER,      .......  74 

TRANSFIGURED, 78 

DESIDERIUM, 79 

A  REMEMBERED  TEACHER 82 

LIFE  OF  His  LIFE, 83 

A  REGRET 86 

THE  OPEN  GUILD  OF  LETTERS 88 

COURAGE 94 

SUGGESTION  OF  A  STANZA,        .       .       .       .               .        .  96 

EXPERIMENTS  IN  LITERAL  TRANSLATION  OF  HOMER,       .  97 

A  SABBATH  AT  SEA, 102 

THE  CLEAR  PEARL,  .       .       .       ....       .       .  104 

GRACE,  NOT  NATURE, 105 

VANITAS  VANITATUM 106 

CHRIST  IN  ME, 107 

GRACE  FOR  GRACE, 108 

AN  IDEAL  AND  A  WISH,     .        .       .       ...       .       .no 


CONTENTS.  vil 

PAGE 

GOOD  CHEER, HI 

TIDES, 113 

MY  OPEN  POLAR  SKA 115 

WHOSOEVER, 117 

LOVE  AND  WILL 119 

AT  THE  SUPPBR 124 

ENTICED, 127 

DEDICATION  HYMN, 131 

ANNIVERSARY  HYMN, 133 

NATIONAL  HYMN, 134 


WBBSTER:  AN  ODE,        ........        139 


C.  R.  W. 

HARK 179 

To  A  WALNUT  TREE  IN  OCTOBER 180 


POEMS. 


FORESHADOWINGS. 

I  SIT  and  sigh,  but  not  with  idle  pain  ; 

I  have  outlived  the  callow  heats  of  youth ; 
The  time  of  buds  that  go  to  come  again 

Is  past  with  me,  and  I  desire  the  truth. 

The  deep,  deep  truth  of  long,  long  love  I  need  ; 

I  have  no  heart  to  waste  in  fruitless  bloom, 
But  all  my  heart  I  have  for  love  indeed, 

And  all  my  heart  goes  forth  to  meet  my  doom. 

What  can  I  do,  but  sit  and  fold  my  hands  ? 

I  hear  no  footfalls  of  the  one  to  come — 
Else  I  would  rise  and  run  through  many  lands 

To  meet  her  coming,  and  to  lead  her  home. 


2  FORESHAD  O  WINGS. 

What  do  I  long  for  ? — since  I  know  not  whom  ; 

I  long  for  peace  from  longing,  and  for  rest ; 
Whether  that  I  grow  old — I  find  in  room 

Of  venturous  pinions  now  a  homesick  breast ; 

Homesick,  though  not  with  retrospective  pain, 
Hollow  with  hunger  for  a  home  to  be, 

Breaking  for  longing  toward  a  sweet  refrain 
Forever  borne  o'er  an  enchanted  sea. 

This  wind  and  wave  has  worn  my  youth  away  ; 

Tis  long  to  anchor  by  the  Blessed  Isles  ; — 
Yet  there  I  dreamed  for  me  a  future  lay 

Securely  glad  in  one  sweet  woman's  smiles. 

Oh,  inaccessible  lady  charmed  from  me ! 

I  see  thee  sit  at  evening  by  my  fire, 
A  light  of  wifely  welcome  circling  thee, 

As  home  I  draw  to  answer  thy  desire. 

I  see  thee  there,  my  queen  of  feast  and  grace, 
Throned  at  my  board,  dispense  the  Attic  cheer ; 

I  look  across  and  watch  thee  in  thy  place, 
Mine,  and  so  fair — so  queenly,  and  so  dear. 


FORESHADOWINGS.  3 

I  hear  thee  sing  clear  carols  of  the  hearth, 

Pensive  and  sweet,  in  tender  twilight  glooms  ; 

My  children  love  the  music  more  than  mirth, 
And  gather  in  from  all  the  darkening  rooms. 

Steals  on  a  holier  household  hour  than  all : 

Thy  children  grouped  about  their  mother's  chair, 

Upon  thy  knees  with  them  I  see  thee  fall — 
Most  beautiful  among  thy  children  there  ! 

I  talk  with  thee  alone — I  stroke  thy  hair — 
I  read  thy  eyes — I  fold  thee  to  my  breast ; 

We  mix  our  mutual  dreams,  and  purely  share 
Love  lapsing  on  through  all  our  raptured  rest. 

The  days  go  onward  ever,  sun  and  rain  ; 

The  nights  between  them  follow,  cloud  or  star  ; 
The  same  to  us,  no  matter  loss  or  gain, — 

Each  unto  each  what  naught  could  make,  can  mar. 

And  we  grow  old  together,  in  my  dream, 
Like  blended  rivers  placid  toward  the  sea — 

Alas,  but  now  my  lone  divided  stream 

Still  hither,  thither,  roves  in  quest  of  thee  ! 


WHERE  THE  BROOK  AND  RIVER  MEET. " 


"WHERE  THE  BROOK  AND  RIVER  MEET." 

MY  maiden  visions  curb  their  airy  flights, 

And  droop  their  pinions  and  come  back  to  me  ; 

That  first  fair  world,  with  all  its  young  delights 
And  morning  hopes,  they  can  no  longer  see. 

My  girlhood's  world  lies  lost  beneath  the  flood 
Of  light,  bright  days  that  fell  like  silver  rain, 

Swollen  from  the  fountains  of  my  womanhood, 
Now  broken  up,  not  to  be  sealed  again. 

But  lo !  another  world,  as  fair,  more  calm, 
Arisen  like  Delos,  floats  upon  the  wave  ; 

I  bare  my  brow  to  breezes  blowing  balm, 
And  smile  through  tears  above  my  girlhood's  grave. 

A  tender  longing,  full  of  gracious  pain, 

A  want  more  rich  than  wealth  possessed  before, 

Delicious  rumors  rife  in  heart  and  brain, 
And  rosy  warmths  that  flush  me  more  and  more  ; 


1 '  WHERE  THE  BR  O OK  AND  RIVER  MEE T.  "    5 

A  sense  of  incompleteness,  new  and  strange, 

Something  that  draws  me  toward  support  beside — 

A  hundred  nameless  heraldries  of  change 
Forewarn  me  of  a  chance  that  may  betide. 


I  watch  to  meet  an  eye  I  have  not  met ; 

I  hearken  for  a  voice  I  have  not  heard  ; 
I  tremble  toward  a  touch  that  hath  not  yet 

The  dreaming  blood's  expectant  pulses  stirred. 

Sometimes  a  look  will  startle,  or  a  tone  ; 

A  touch  sometimes  half  seem  to  shake  my  heart ; 
A  moment  then  alone  is  more  alone, 

And  fates  were  sweet  together,  not  apart. 

Yet  well  content  with  blessed  discontent, 
I  dream  my  dream,  nor  care  to  waken  soon  ; 

The  dream  bides  fair,  though  fairer  far  be  meant, 
Let  the  white  dawn  delay  the  golden  noon.    . 

So  watch,  my  heart,  and  let  me  dream  my  dream  ; 

Watch,  and  awake  me  when  the  time  shall  come  ; 
Perhaps  our  prince  is  nearer  than  we  deem, 

But  greet  him  thou — my  dream  may  make  me  dumb. 


PILGRIMAGE. 


PILGRIMAGE. 

PILGRIM  I  am,  and  make  my  way  alone  ; 

Sometimes  I  pitch  my  tent,  when  not  for  rest ; 
Then,  as  I  sit  and  muse,  there  cometh  one, 

My  heart's  unbidden,  yet  most  welcome  guest : 
I  know  her  nigh  by  neither  word  nor  sign, 
Only  a  sweeter  light  within  the  rich  sunshine. 

Or,  if  it  be  the  saintly  close  of  day, 

And  the  day's  so  beguiled  march  be  o'er, 

Then  by  a  starrier  clearness  in  the  ray 

Of  love's  clear  star,  from  that  deep  sunset  shore, 

I  know  my  angel  is  within  my  tent, 

And  her  gold-shadowing  spirit  o'er  my  spirit  leant. 

Or,  if  at  midnight,  while  I  lie  asleep, 
A  secret  glory  down  the  moonbeam  roll ; 

Or  some  serene  transfiguration  creep 

Over  the  clustering  stars  that  crowd  the  pole, 


PILGRIMAGE.  7 

Tingeing  my  dreams,  then  waking  me  to  dreams, 
I  know  that  these  are  her  annunciation-gleams. 

Fresher  than  morning,  when  the  morning  breaks, 
Breaks  from  my  East  the  morning  meant  for  me  ; 

East  is  to  me  the  way  my  angel  takes 

To  reach  my  tent,  whate'er  that  way  may  be ; 

To  her  my  tent-door  opens  self-withdrawn, 

And  to  the  bridegroom  sun  swing  wide  the  gates  of 
dawn. 

So  noonday,  evening,  midnight,  morning,  I 
Lonely  am  not,  although  I  dwell  alone ; 

But  my  blind-poet  heart  doth  prophesy, 
Dreaming  a  dream  and  vision  of  her  own — 

One  tent,  not  far,  by  Elim's  springs  and  palms, 

And   two  that,    side   by  side,   sit  singing    pilgrim 
psalms. 


WHOSE   WAS   THE  BLAME? 


WHOSE  WAS   THE   BLAME? 

WHOSE  was  the  blame  ?     Our  crescent    love   had 

grown 

Full  like  the  moon  which,  that  December  eve, 
Calmly  and  brightly  on  our  bridal  shone — 
The    wane    of    Love,   what    future    months    re- 
trieve ? 

The  winter  moon  seemed  long  to  pause  at  full, 
Tranced  fair  and  large  in  those  pure  spheres  of 

sky, 
Night  after  night,  as  by  some  miracle 

Charmed  not  to  wane,  lest  Love  should  wane  and 
die. 

But  the  moon  waned,  and  shrank  into  her  grave, 
Thence  duly,  month  by  month,  to  issue  new — 

Love  from  her  "  vacant  interlunar  cave  " 
No  long  fulfilment  of  her  cycle  drew. 


WHOSE    WAS   THE  BLAME?  9 

We  never  knew  what  first  the  perfect  shield 
Touched  with  the  little  dint  that  grew  so  wide 

Afterward— and  left  at  last  the  ample  field 

Starry  in  vain,  whence  Love  had  waned  and  died. 

Whose  was  the  blame  ?     In  her  young  horoscopes 
Of  the  sweet  wedded  years  that  were  to  be, 

I  still  had  been  the  sovereign  of  her  hopes, 
The  star  that  ruled  her  bright  astrology. 

And  one  fair  face,  forever  formed  anew, 
Had  closed  to  me  the  vistas  of  my  way  ; 

All  voices  sworn  of  lovely,  good,  or  true, 

Heard,  or  but  dreamed,  had  one  sweet  thing  to  say. 

Whose  was  the  blame  ?    We  saw  each  other  such, 
And  clasped  each  other's  hands  without  surprise  ; 

Our  mutual  souls  saluted  in  the  touch, 
And  doubt  was  slain  between  our  conscious  eyes. 

Were  we  not  one  ?     Then  twain  were  never  one  ! 

Our  beings  mixed  and  beat  the  same  desire. 
Whose  was  the  blame  ?    All  things  beneath  the  sun 

Change,  and  this  changed  ;  but  Love,  could  Love 
expire  ? 


10  MINE   WAS  THE  BLAME. 


MINE  WAS  THE   BLAME. 

MINE  was  the  blame — all,  all  that  cruel  blame — 
Mine,  mine,  not  ours,  but  only,  only  mine  ; 

We  knew  not,  thou  nor  I,  but  when  he  came, 

Death  came,  great  Death,  Death  taught  me  mine 
and  thine. 

He  showed  me  thy  cold  hand,  that  clasped  no  more  ; 

He  showed  me  thy  shut  eyes  in  that  eclipse  ; 
He  showed  me  thy  fixed  face,  where  played  before 

The  sweet  sad  smile — yet  frozen  on  thy  lips. 

Alone  I  knelt  by  that  still  shrine  of  clay, 
Whence  the  fair  inner  light  of  life  had  fled  ; 

I  could  not  see  within — 'twere  vain  to  pay 
Vows  at  a  shrine  whose  gentle  saint  was  dead  ! 

Yet  I  did  long  to  tell  thee,  gentle  saint, 

What  the  wise  master  Death  was  telling  me ; 

My  heart  grew  heavy  with  uneased  complaint, 
Unwonted  not  to  turn  for  ease  to  thee. 


MINE    WAS   THE  BLAME.  II 

Did  I  not  move  thee  somewhat,  placid  clay, 
Did  I  not  move  thee  somewhat  with  my  pain  ? 

Heardest  thou  naught  of  all  I  yearned  to  say  ? 
Oh,  ears  how  deaf,  and  oh,  desire  how  vain  ! 

Thy  look  seemed  gracious  that  was  so  severe  ; 

The  awe  was  more  for  that  no  awe  was  meant ; 
The  fast  pathetic  eye  that  found  no  tear  ! 

The  lips  relenting  that  did  not  relent ! 

"Thine  was  the  blame,"  Death  said,  and  touched 

thy  hand ; 
"This  hand,"  he  said,  "  was  warm  when  thine  was 

cold  ; 

See,  I  have  closed  these  eyes  from  thy  demand 
Of  the  old  looks  to  looks  no  more  the  old, 

"And  this  cheek  sealed,  and  these  lips  locked,"  said 

Death, 
"  Now   they    are    mine,    not    thine,"   he    sternly 

said, 
"  Thine  was   the   blame  ;  therefore   I   stopped  her 

breath." 
"  O  Death,"  I  said,  "  and  would  that  I  were  dead  ! " 


12  MINE   WAS  THE  BLAME. 

Judicial  Death  made  answer:  "  Nay,  but  live  ; 

I  doom  thee  thus — thy  punishment  be  life ; 
Yet  Death  at  last  is  kind,  and  can  forgive  ; 

What  if  loss  gain  whom  gain  had  lost — thy  wife  ? " 

So  Death  the  judge  was  Death  the  comforter  ; 

Thou,  therefore,  pitying  saint,  b.e  comforted  ; 
Just  purgatorial  pains  brief  space  defer 

The  nuptials  wherein  we  aright  will  wed. 


JOHN'S  POEM.  13 


JOHN'S  POEM. 

I  MET  him  in  the  Pitti  Palace,  changed 
From  the  fair  boy  that  I  had  known  at  school, 
And  loved,  a  score  of  years  before — man-grown, 
A  full  bass  voice  from  'twixt  his  bearded  lips, 
And  a  wife  leaning  on  his  yielded  arm. 

Slow  sauntering  to  and  fro,  from  this  to  that, 
And  back  to  reperuse  the  artist's  thought 
In  a  new  light,  or  with  some  deeper  guess 
More  deeply  seen,  they  lingered,  and  I  watched 
And  made  him  out.     John's  old-time  look — 
The  gesture  of  the  hand,  the  mobile  brow, 
The  smile,  the  mien,  the  air — all,  all  was  his, 
The  same,  the  same,  my  friend.     I  went  toward  him 
To  call  his  name  and  claim  him ;  but  his  eye 
Met  mine  with  a  regard  so  alien-wise, 
And  seemed  to  challenge  my  intent  with  such 
A  courteous  hospitality  of  doubt 
That  I  was  dashed  to  disbelieve  my  guess. 


14  JOHN'S  POEM. 

"Pardon,"  I  said,  "but  something  that  I  saw, 
Or  fancied,  in  your  face  and  port,  misled 
My  eyes  to  find  in  you  an  old-time  friend — 
And  still,  sir,  you  are  still  so  strangely  like — 
We  looked  at  one  another  eye  to  eye, 
Till  suddenly  our  souls  swam  to  our  eyes, 
And  "John!"   and  "Walter!"  made  us  boys  and 
friends. 

One  evening  after,  at  their  inn,  I  sat 
Till  late  to  talk  with  John  of  the  old  days, 
His  wife  a  silent  partner  of  our  talk 
And  waiting  for  our  mutual  tales  to  reach 
The   time    when    she    knew   John — it    seemed   half 

strange 

To  her  that  any  one  had  known  her  John 
Before  she  knew  him — but  her  silent  art 
In  listening  lent  its  secret  charm  to  make 
Our  reminiscences  more  sweet  to  both, 
And  lure  us  farther  on.     At  last  John  said  : 

"  There,  Mary,  you  remember,  we  first  met." 

And  Mary  smiled  with  such  a  woman's  grace 
Of  gladness  to  be  blended  in  John's  thought 


JOHN'S  POEM.  15 

With  scenes  so  dear  to  him,  that  I  conceived 
A  wish,  too  sudden  for  the  second  mind 
That  hastened  after  with  its  late  reproof, 
To  know  their  lovers'  story — how  they  met 
And  loved,  and  what  the  fortunes  of  their  love. 
I  said : 

"  If  I  could  hear  how  you  two  met, 
And  mastered  fate,  and  out  of  twain  were  one, 
Perhaps,  perhaps,  I  know  not,  it  might  yield 
Solution  of  a  riddle  of  my  life 
Which  baffles  me." 

Misgiving  made  me  bold, 
And  I  went  on  : 

"  So,  frankly,  Madam,  here 
In  your  own  presence,  for  my  loyal  pledge 
Of  being  no  curious  prier  only,  I, 
By  leave  assumed  from  you  as  not  saying  nay, 
Beg  to  be  told  what  other  may  be  told 
How  John  found  you  and  won  a  noble  wife. 

"  Now,  John,  the  whole,  the  crescent,  wax  and 
wane, 


1 6  JOHN'S  POEM. 

Eclipses,  occultations,  all,  to  the  full  moon, 
And  long,  long  light,  and  cloudless  sky,  of  love 
In  wedlock." 

John  and  Mary  smiled, 
But  whether  yes  or  no,  I  did  not  guess, 
Shutting  my  eyes  to  dream  what  I  should  hear. 

And  John  : 

"  Well,  Mary,  shall  I  tell  him  all- 
How  frankly  you  surrendered  first  to  me  ; 
And  how  your  heart  misgave  you  afterward, 
To  make  you  doubt  yourself  and  doubt  the  truth 
Of  the  most  true  conclusion  of  your  life  ? 
Ah,  Mary,  you,  unconscious  four-o'-clock, 
Folded  yourself  demurely  from  my  love, 
And  played  at  death  to  me,  deceiving  not 
Your  lover,  who  was  wiser,  but  yourself. 
I  never  gave  you  up  through  that  long  lapse, 
Long  to  the  doubt  and  fear  that  made  my  love 
Delicious  with  a  sad  solicitude 
Of  hope,  though  brief  as  one  swift  week  of  June. 
It  was  not  all  at  unawares  to  me 


JOHN'S  POEM.  17 

When  you   shut    up  your    bloom  and  ceased    to 

breathe 

Your  heart  of  sweetness  out  in  sacrifice 
To  make  me  rich — a  warning  went  before. 
Forewarned,  I  watched  and  waited  for  the  life 
Of  love  within  my  folded  flower  to  rise 
And  fling  her  petals  open  fair  again. 
Once  wooed,  twice  won,  I  wedded  you  my  wife." 

"  A  poem,  or  a  parable  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Perhaps  some  echo  out  of  days  so  sweet, 
Or  sad — and  sad,  yet  not  unsweet " — he  said, 
"  Still  lingers  in  my  heart  to  tune  my  speech 
In  speaking  of  them.     They  were  very  sweet, 
A  poem  and  a  parable  to  me. 

"  I  never  told  you,  Mary,  but  true  love 
Even  made  your  John  a  rhymer  for  that  once 
In  all  his  life — 'twas  with  no  wish  or  will 
Of  mine,  and  therefore  with  no  blame  to  me. 
A  rhythm  in  nature,  then  full  pressed  with  June, 
And  music  in  the  motion  of  my  blood 
Turned  all  my  thoughts  of  you  perforce  to  song. 


1 8  JOHN'S  POEM. 

My  song  was  very  brave  and  gay  at  first 

And  thankful  ;  not  the  birds  rejoice  in  choir 

Over  the  springing  grass  and  bursting  flowers, 

More  than  the  soul  of  song  within  me  born 

Caroled  for  awe  and  gladness  over  you. 

But  a  strong  wind  bore  down  the  flying  jet 

Of  music  from  the  fountain  of  my  heart, 

And  bent  it  prone  to  pathos  ;  then  again 

It  soared  and  triumphed,  for  that  wind  went  down. 

"  But,  parable  or  poem,  here  it  is  : " 

MY  FLOWER. 
I. 

My  God  hath  made  a  flower  to  blow 

For  me,  for  me  alone  ; 
There  is  no  other  heart  can  know, 

No  other  but  my  own, 
The  sweetness  of  this  human  flower, 

That  blooms  for  me  alone. 

She  blossoms  when  she  wills,  my  flower, 

But  always  wills  to  me  ; 
The  rest  that  came  to  find  her  bower, 

They  came,  but  did  not  see 
The  flower,  that  would  not  bloom  for  them 

But  always  wills  to  me. 


JOHN'S  POEM.  19 

She  waited  twenty  springs  in  leaf, 

Distilling  sun  and  shower, 
Her  maiden- April  joy  and  grief, 

To  sweetness  every  hour — 
Such  change  to  sweetness  never  yet 

Did  suffer  sun  and  shower. 

But  when  God  drew  my  feet  to  where 

She  folded  up  her  heart 
And  twenty  years  of  sweetness  there, 

The  leaf  began  to  part 
And  show  the  flower,  that  never  now, 

Shall  never  fold  her  heart. 

I  cannot  tell  why  this  is  so ; 

It  seems  an  utter  grace  ; 
There  is  no  cause  in  me,  I  know, 

No  power  of  worthiness ; 
But  I  remember  ONCE  before 

An  equal  utter  grace. 

Does  any  doubt  discomfort  me  ? 

Is  it  not  perfect  bliss  ? 
Surely  I  know  my  dream  will  be 

More  and  more  rich  than  this. 
Strange,  that  the  foolish  heart  should  fear 

Too  sudden-perfect  bliss  ! 


20  JOHN'S  POEM. 

My  flower's  breath  grows  sweet  and  faint, 
Like  the  lark's  voice  when  far  ; 

But  the  lark  feels  the  earth's  constraint, 
He  does  not  cross  the  bar — 

The  lark  comes  back — I  cannot  think 

• 

My  flower  will  faint  too  far. 

II. 

She  was  not  mistress  of  her  will ; 

"  My  time  of  bud  and  leaf, 
My  folded  bloom,  so  rich  and  still, 

Alas  !  'twas  all  too  brief," 
My  flower  repined,  in  wish  and  dream 

Relapsing  into  leaf. 

And  so  she  swooned  away  from  me, 

One  syncope  of  bloom, 
And  that  rose  heart  ceased  suddenly 

Its  pulses  of  perfume  ; 
The  others  called  it  death,  but  I, 

Only  suspense  of  bloom. 

She  swooned  of  her  own  sweetness  then  ; 

The  fragrance  she  exhated 
Became  the  breath  she  breathed  again, 

'Twas  so  her  being  failed : 
It  was  not  life  for  her,  but  me, 

The  fragrance  she  exhaled. 


JOHN'S  POEM.  21 

But  in  a  trance  of  love  and  hope, 

Long  hope,  begot  of  love, 
Long  love,  hope-nurtured,  like  a  cope 

Of  prophet's  warmth,  above 
That  hoarding  heart  of  sweet,  I  watched 

The  second  bloom  of  love. 

The  blithe  young  year  was  flush  with  June  ; 

No  flower  withheld  its  gift ; 
A  holocaust  of  incense  boon 

The  priestess  tribes  uplift ; 
Amid  this  wide  oblation  how 

Shall  she  withhold  her  gift  ? 

She  yields,  she  blooms — the  blossomed  bowers, 

Sweet  with  self-sacrifice, 
The  sister-lore  of  censer  flowers 

Prevailed  to  make  her  wise  ; 
My  flower  had  learned  that  flowers  are  sweet 

For  sweet  self-sacrifice  ! 

And  now  her  frank  and  open  bloom, 

Wide  to  the  'air  and  sun, 
Feels  with  each  waft  of  lost  perfume 

New  strength  for  sweetness  won  : 
Sweet  and  not  faint  her  breath  has  grown, 

Since  wide  to  air  and  sun. 


22  JOHN'S  POEM. 

There  grew  a  fine  vibration  in  John's  voice, 
The  pathos  of  past  gladness,  as  he  read. 

"Words,  Walter,  words — a  riddle,  if  you  will  ; 
Take  them  and  spell  them  out — I  make  them  yours. 
Sitting  by  Mary  and  remembering  all, 
Dear  friend,  I  trust  for  you  some  good  like  mine." 


THE    WIFE'S   VIGIL.  23 


THE  WIFE'S  VIGIL. 

THE  clock  was  noiseless  as  the  creep  of  time  ; 
Only  the  soft  throb  of  the  pendulum, 
But  felt,  not  heard,  and  like  the  pulsing  blood. 
The  slow,  persistent  dial  hands  paced  round 
The  dull  same  sentry-beat  about  the  hours, 
And  stood,  or  seemed  to  stand,  at  two — blank  two — 
The  dead-point  of  the  circling  night.     A  lamp 
Burned  dim,  with  a  low  vigil  flame,  and  lit 
The  room  in  steadfast  shadow,  where  one  waked 
To  watch  another's  sleep.     The  husband  slept, 
And  the  wife  waked  ;  and  they  two  were  alone. 

The   sick   man's  bosom   scarcely  heaved  with 

breath, 

And  she  scarce  breathed  to  see  him  scarcely  breathe. 
He  must  not  wake,  or  he  will  wake  to  die  ; 
But  if  he  sleep,  then  he  may  sleep  to  live. 
O  Night,  dear  Night,  kind  luller  of  all  sounds, 


24  THE   WIFE'S   VIGIL. 

Slow  Night,  still  Night,  nurse  him  "with  dark  and 

calm ! 

He  shall  not  hear  me  breathe,  nor  hear  my  heart 
Beat,  though  it  beat  nothing  but  love  for  him. 

Hush !     Hark  !     A  footstep  !  for  I  heard  it  well. 
He  did  not  hear  it ;  and  it  falls  again. 
Another  !    And  another  !     If  he  wake  ! 
He  shall  not  wake.     Those  cat-like  footsteps  still ! 
But  it  is  well,  if  he  must  rob  the  house, 
He  walks  so  softly.     Oh,  poor  man — bad  man  ! 
Now,  angels,  weave  your  charms  to  shield  his  sleep  ! 
O  God,  thou  givest  thy  beloved  sleep  ! 
O  my  beloved,  God's  beloved,  sleep  ! 

Outside  with  patient  cunning  he  had  plied, 
The  prowler,  his  long  purpose  in  the  dark 
Without  a  sound,  and  wrought  it,  entering  in. 
He  spied  the  light,  and  the  light  drew  him  on. 
A  moment  on  the  border  of  the  dark, 
The  spirit  of  the  darkness,  hovering, 
There  in  the  centre  of  her  sphere  of  light, 
The  spirit  of  the  light,  he  saw  her  sit — 
The  woman,  beautiful,  and  pure,  and  pale — 


THE    WIFE'S   VIGIL.  2$ 

With    shut   eyes,   rapt   in   prayer,   and    calm,   and 

strong. 

A  power  from  the  vision  fell  on  him. 
He  had  not  guessed  in  his  dark  heart  how  much 
Good  overmatches  evil,  in  its  strength 
To  watch,  and  wait,  and  work,  and  overcome. 

»     He  in  his  doubt  and  pause,  she  raised  her  eyes 
And  saw  all  in  an  instant.     Instantly, 
With  simultaneous  thought  and  act,  she  rose — 
A  finger  on  her  lips  to  make  him  dumb — 
And  turned,  and  from  their  secret  drawer  took 
The  keys  to  all  the  treasures  of  the  house  ; 
Then  all  as  if  he  were  her  servant  come 
In  answer  to  her  call  to  do  her  wish — 
And  he  became  her  servant  in  the  sign — 
Moved  like  a  moving  statue  silently, 
To  meet  the  wondering  robber  where  he  stood. 
The  straight  regard  of  those  clear,  steadfast  eyes, 
Bent  on  him  without  fear,  or  horror,  or  doubt, 
Wrought  a  confusion  in  his  brain  and  sense, 
And  quelled  his  evil  boldness  in  the  man. 
She  did  not  fear,  but  he  was  sore  afraid. 
She  looked  no  horror  of  him,  but  he  conceived 


26  THE    WIFE'S   VIGIL. 

A  horror  of  his  own  self,  and  of  his  deed. 
She  dwelt  secure  in  purpose  and  result ; 
But  he  was  baffled  in  perplexity. 
Good  made  her  light,  and  evil  darkened  him. 

She  held  the  keys  forth,  pointing  with  mute  sign 
To  him  that  lay  so  still  in  sleep  or  death. 
The  robber  saw  and  understood,  and  took 
Involuntary  purpose  suddenly. 
He  shook  his  head  in  silence  for  his  sign, 
And,  stepping  relvet,  vanished  as  he  came. 

So  the  light  purged  him  off  into  the  dark. 
Perhaps  a  spark  of  light  abode  in  him 
That  after  leavened  his  nature  into  light. 


CONSOLA  TION.  27 


CONSOLATION. 

I  DREAMED  last  night  of  our  darling  boy, 

He  shouted  aloud  for  glee  ; 
O  love,  but  it  filled  my  heart  with  joy 

His  ruddy  health  to  see  ! 

And  I  said,  My  love,  why,  here  is  our  son, 

He  is  not  dead,  he  is  here  ; 
See  him  frisk  and  run  in  his  frolic  and  fun, 

And  hark  to  his  voice,  how  clear  ! 

It  was  all  but  an  evil  dream,  my  love, 

Thank  God,  it  is  over  and  past ! 
Our  bending  and  watching  his  bed  above 

So  long,  and  so  vainly  at  last. 

What  a  strange,  foolish  dream  it  was,  my  dear, 
But  how  real  and  how  sad  it  seemed ! 

We  did  not  guess,  in  our  grief  and  our  fear, 
We  could  not  guess,  that  we  dreamed. 


28  CONSOLATION. 

We  thought  it  was  surely  so,  that  he 

Lay  wearily  waiting  to  die  ; 
We  thought  it  was  surely  so,  that  we 

Sat  muffling  our  mutual  cry. 

I  laughed  in  my  dream  :  Love,  let  us  be  wise, 

Lo,  how  little  this  looks  like  death  ! 
I  laughed,  but  the  tears  made  a  mist  in  my  eyes, 

And  I  breathed  as  if  fearful  of  breath. 

For  the  spell  of  that  past  which  I  dreamed  was  a 
dream — 

It  abode,  and  it  still  would  abide  ; 
Insomuch  that  I  yet  could  not  utterly  deem 

But  somehow  'twas  true  he  had  died. 

And  still,  and  still,  the  long,  drear  days, 

And  the  longer  nights  between, 
Wherein  we  twain  went  those  death-shade  ways, 

They  still  seemed  indeed  to  have  been. 

I  could  not  forget  his  sad,  dull  look, 

The  look  of  precocious  pain, 
That  the  sweet  little  face  not  once  forsook, 

Not  once  let  it  brighten  again  ! 


CONSOLATION.  29 

Ahd  the  cry  that  he  cried — you  remember  his  cry, 

One  intense  inarticulate  plea, 

Piercing  keen  from  his  heart  to  that  Heart  in  the 
sky: 

Lord  Jesus,  have  mercy  on  me  ! 

I  heard  it  again,  pang-sped  arrow  of  sound, 

It  clove  to  the  quick  of  my  sleep  ; 
I  awoke,  and  awake,  alas,  love,  I  found 

There  was  bitter  occasion  to  weep. 

For  our  boy  was  not  there,  I  but  dreamed  of  our  boy, 

Our  beautiful  Arthur  and  brave  ; 
The  vision  had  vanished,  that  vision  of  joy, 

And  Arthur  remained  in  his  grave. 

In  his  grave,  that  bright  being !  Nay,  beloved,  not  so, 
That  brightness,  that  sweetness,  survive  ; 

They  never  could  bury  such  sunshine,  I  know  ; 
Little  Arthur,  be  sure,  is  alive. 

Believing,  beloved,  is  blessed  content  ; 

We  shall  weep,  but  our  tears  will  be  peace  ; 
To  betoken  what  is,  that  vision  was  sent, 

What  is,  and  what  never  shall  cease  ! 


30  A   PICTURE   OF  MEMORY, 


A   PICTURE   OF  MEMORY. 

IT  may  be  that  in  after  time, 
As  hath  been  in  the  time  before, 

These  pleasant  thoughts  that  fall  to  rhyme 
Will  leave  me  lone  forevermore. 

I  seem  to  see  a  radiant  hearth, 
And  looks  of  trust,  and  happy  eyes  ; 

I  catch  the  sound  of  children's  mirth, 
Laughter  and  words  and  quick  replies. 

The  father  sits,  with  calm  content, 
The  sober  centre  of  the  scene, 

Reading  with  visage  downward  bent, 
Or  musing  with  abstracted  mien. 

Beside  him,  seeking  hidden  joy, 

His  favorite  books  around  him  spread, 

A  frank,  clear-eyed,  and  serious  boy 
Converses  with  the  wiser  dead. 


A   PICTURE    OF  MEMORY.  31 

The  daughters  share  the  mother's  mind, 
Wearing  a  brow  of  household  care  ; 

While  untouched  youth  from  eyelids  kind 
Looks  out  upon  a  world  all  fair. 

They  win  you  with  the  woman's  grace, 
Most  quiet  and  pervasive  power — 

An  influence  raining  from  the  face, 

The  unconscious  fragrance  of  a  flower. 

But  thou,  O  high  and  queenly  heart, 

My  elder  and  superior  friend, 
Who,  filling  well  the  mother's  part, 

Knowest  thou  hast  no  nobler  end, 

All  this  fair  picture  utters  thee  ; 

The  vision  and  the  light  are  thine, 
And  that  pure  air  of  sanctity 

Which  breathes  this  spell  of  peace  divine. 

O  image  near  of  heaven  afar, 

Ideal-perfect  dream  of  home, 
Clear  in  my  reverie  as  a  star, 

And  steadfast,  whereso'er  I  roam — 


32  A   PICTURE   OF  MEMORY, 

Leave  me  not  lone  ;  I  cannot  be 
Utterly  homeless  anywhere, 

While  Memory  builds  this  house  for  me, 
And  lights  her  fires  of  welcome  there. 


A   DEDICATION.  33 


A   DEDICATION. 

AFTER   SPENSER. 

As  when,  in  isle  in  ocean  far  away, 

Faring  o'er  wave  of  his  world-wandering  tide, 

Which  forlorn  mariner,  of  winds  the  play, 

Where  its  green  spot  on  azure  deep  doth  ride, 
Spies,  and  misdeems  he  spies  the  enchanted  side 

Of  sweet-souled  Spenser's  western  fairy  world, 
Bright  dream  !  him  landed  greets  the  gentle  pride 

Of  unknown  flower,  he  tendeth  well,  the  curled 

Wave  o'er,  that  stranger  flower,  where'er  his  course 
is  hurled  : 

So,  sister  mine,  summing  the  mazy  throng 
Of  earthly  ills,  yet  heavenward  making  way, 

In  some  far  year  perhaps  this  simple  song 
That  hies  from  heart  in  wondrous  merry  play, 
As  water  welleth  to  the  pleasant  day, 


34  A  DEDICATION. 

Will  woo  thy  small  regard  with  downcast  air  ; 

In  other  years,  as  he  the  flower,  so  may 
Thou  very  gently  cherish  it,  and  bear 
Its  bosomed  sweet  remembrance  whereso'er  thou 
fare! 


THE  POET'S  MINE.  35 


THE  POET'S  MINE. 

THERE  is  a  power  or  passion  of  the  spirit, 

Oh  !  wrought  not,  laid  not,  by  the  spirit's  will, 

But  coming,  going,  as  the  fit  may  wear  it, 
Or  he,  the  viewless  conjurer,  compel, 
That  feigns,  translates,  transmutes  whatever  fill 

Earth,  ocean,  air,  the  substance  of  the  mind, 
Into  bright  forms  and  essences,  that  still 

Flit  with  its  shifting  phase,  return  refined 

To  more    pure    modes   of   grace   more  gloriously 
combined. 

These  pass  into  the  spirit ;  there  they  grow 
Into  a  clearer  beauty  ;  thus  they  blend 

With  her  own  being  ;  an  empyreal  glow, 

And  they  are  one — yet  not  the  same  ;  these  lend 
Their  life,  and  the  blithe  spirit  hastes  to  spend 

An  effluence  of  her  quality  divine 

Which  makes  them  co-immortal :  without  end 

This  passes  with  the  poet,  till  a  mine 

Of  jewels  purest-wrought  doth  in  his  spirit  shine  ! 


3<5  NESHOBEE. 


NESHOBEE. 

AFTER  SPENSER. 

NESHOBEE  was  a  little  lovely  spot 

You   may  have   dreamed  some  drowsy  summer's 

noon, 
But  to  have  seen  hath  been  above  your  lot, 

For  now,  alack-a-day,  and  much  too  soon, 

Its   charms    have    passed    from   underneath    the 

moon ! 
Aye  me,  sweet  one,  and  might  thy  sooth  minstrel 

Acquaint  his  harp  how  that  the  fond  raccoon, 
And  witty  fox,  and  every  brute  gentle, 
And  every  bird  and  bloom  inhabited  thy  dell ! 

Two  undulating  lines  of  hill-top  green 
Did  hide  the  rising  and  the  setting  sun, 

Yet  that  against  the  East  excelled,  I  ween, 
And  so  the  prime  part  of  his  course  was  run 
Before  the  waxing  fervors  were  begun  ; 


NESHOBEE.  37 

And  then  what  time  he,  ardent  eye  of  day, 

Did  nearly  look  the  western  woods  upon, 
Behind  the  opposite  less  steep  alway 
He  dropped,  yet  shed  o'er  half  the  heaven  a  milder  ray. 

These  were,  in  sooth,  an  arborous  battlement, 

That  eke  for  beauty  and  for  use  might  be, 
Whereon  did  grow  each  tree  of  good  intent 

The  careful  clime  could  nurse  right  ruggedly  ; 

The  rigid  beech,  the  courtly  hickory, 
The  maple  bleeding  sweets,  the  solemn  spruce, 

The  impressible  bass,  the  poplar,  Quaker  he, 
The  sceptre-bearing  birch,  once — now  this  use, 
O  star-eyed  Progress  !  is  an  ascertained  abuse. 

And  more  there  were,  not  worthless  to  be  sung, 
But  that  it  would  my  hasting  harp  delay 

To  tell  how  fair  the  mountain  ash  uphung 
Her  silver  blossoms,  or  her  berries  gay 
Vermilion  ;  how  the  vine,  with  tendril  spray, 

And  flexible  endeavor,  twined  the  grove 
To  amity  ;  so  there  the  summer  day 

Fainted  for  sweetness  of  one  dream  of  love, 

A  sense  of  joy  and  peace,  like  broodings  of  the  dove  ! 


38  THE    VALE   OF   OTTER. 


THE  VALE   OF   OTTER. 

ONE  frolic  leap  from  the  farewell  caress 
Of  mountains  joying  in  so  fair  a  child, 

And  Otter,  'scaped  through  woody  wilderness, 
Lapses  into  a  love-lorn  valley  mild 
Of  swaying  vines,  and  river  willows  wild, 

And  many  a  bloomy  grass,  and  many  a  flower, 
By  whose  sweet  kiss  the  dallying  wave  beguiled 

Still  in  the  prime,  the  late,  the  middle  hour, 

Lingers  through  all  his  banks,  a  bright  continuous 
bower. 

The  river  cherry,  on  the  swimming  brink, 

Sends  .down  his  bibulous  root  to  seek  the  wave  ; 
With  fellow  thirst,  the  willows  drooping  drink 

Through  darkling  roots  and  branches  sunny  brave; 

And  all  between,  the  long  green  grasses  lave, 
Lapping  the  current's  coolness  ;  here  and  there, 

The  miner  musk-rat  winds  his  gallery-cave, 
And  wantons  in  the  water  ;  everywhere 
Whatever  thrives  in  moist  battens  on  banquet  fare. 


THE   VALE  OF  OTTER.  39 

So  flush  and  full  the  convex  river  runs, 
And  seamless  green  the  endless  meadow  weaves  ; 

Ever  on  either  side  the  valley  shuns, 
With  flexile  sweep,  some  wooded  bastion's  eaves 
Flung  from  the  fortress  mountains  ;  and  all  leaves 

Of  trees  that  love  the  water-brink  emboss, 

As  with  boon  Nature's  never-garnered  sheaves, 

The  level  valley  with  their  mounded  gloss, 

Along  the  linked  curves  of  Otter's  living  fosse. 

The  banks  are  brim  with  water  hazel-brown, 

The  vale  is  brim  with  meadow  living-green, 
Through  fluent  grass  the  river  wanders  down, 

And  grass  and  river  make  one  liquid  scene. 

It  seems  blue  Leman  changed  to  emerald  sheen, 
With  waves  of  verdure  capped  with  leafy  spray, 

Where  urgent  Rhone  has  slacked  his  current  keen, 
To  heal  the  gentle  wound  with  long  delay, 
By  which  through   all  that   peace   he   cleaves  his 
warrior  way. 


40  THE  ISLAND  OF  TRANQUILLITY. 


THE  ISLAND  OF  TRANQUILLITY. 

HITHER  withdrawn  from  all  the  world's  disease, 
The  dwellers  do  a  gentle  life  consume, 

And  comfort  loss  with  fair  philosophies 
Of  the  other  realm,  and  of  the  latter  doom 
Of  such  as  hide  their  footsteps  in  the  tomb. 

So  many  much-loved  pathways  there  have  ceased, 
Ceased  from  observance — though  in  larger  room, 

From  all  besetments  of  the  flesh  released, 

No  doubt  the  unseen  steps  to  godlike  space  increased! 

Here  let  us  change  discourse  perpetually 

Of  household  forms  beheld  no  longer  here  : 
Father  who  went,  and  left  small  memory, 

But  that  was  holy  with  a  happy  tear. 

Mild  fell  the  light  of  sunset  on  his  bier — 
Buried,  we  thought,  with  the  beloved  head 

To  leaven  the  oppressive  soil — and  in  our  ear 
A  murmur  :  "  Dying  in  the  Lord,"  it  said, 
"Henceforth  the  dead  is  blest" — and  blessed  was 
the  dead ! 


THE  ISLAND  OF  TRANQUILLITY.  41 

And  one  that  followed,  ere  the  flower  had  turned 
To  any  fruit  or  lost  its  youthful  hue  ; 

But  not  before  her  prepared  spirit  had  learned 
The  careful  step  that  keeps  the  pathway  true, 
Through  pastures  green,  forever  wet  writh  dew 

From  clouds  on  Zion's  hill  :  her  breath  was  sweet 
With  airs  of  heaven,  that  on  her  forehead  blew. 

From  hill  to  hill  of  prospect  now  her  feet, 

Like  Morning  round  the  world,  are  walking  pure 
and  fleet. 

We  yet  perforce  contented  bide  our  while, 
Where  gentle  shores  of  resignation  bound, 

On  every  side  about,  our  Blessed  Isle, 

With  long  slope  sliding  toward  the  gulfs  profound 
Of  the  mid-sea  of  sorrow  moaning  round  : 

Far  off  the  rude  roar  of  the  storm  retreats, 
And  in  our  ears  sinks  to  a  soothing  sound  ; 

Lulled  in  a  lovely  weather,  our  calm  seats 

Keep  their  pathetic  calm  whatever  tempest  beats. 


42  THE  NORTHERN  LIGHTS. 


THE  NORTHERN  LIGHTS. 

WHEN  the  sole  sun  is  low, 
And  myriad  stars  watch  in  the  wakeful  even, 

Where  lights  that  crystalline  glow, 
Suffusing  faint  and  fair  the  azure  slopes  of  heaven  ? 

Is  it  the  icy  field 
That  masks,  at  either  pole,  the  fervid  sway 

Wherewith  the  earth  is  wheeled, 
Flaming,  unwasting,  in  the  slant  sun's  frory  ray  ? 

Is  it  the  restless  spirit 
That  haunts  the  bosom  of  the  universe, 

In  void  he  doth  inherit, 

Kindling  the  electric  flames  that  thought  and  being 
nurse  ? 

Is  it  a  weird  portent, 
Written  in  lightning  on  the  living  wall 

Of  the  far  firmament, 
Pointing  some  world  aghast  to  fate's  impending  fall  ? 


THE  NORTHERN  LIGHTS.  43 

Is  it  the  flushing  flame 
Of  some  more  fine  ethereal  sphere  on  fire, 

With  radiant  hue  of  shame 

Mantling  the  conscious  heaven  above  the  funeral 
pyre? 

Is  it  the  vivid  beam 
Once  fixed  in  splendor  'twixt  the  cherubim, 

Its  winged  Shekinah-gleam 
Lighting  the  lonely  sky  with  awful  sign  of  Him  ? 


44  THE   WOLVES'  FEAST. 


THE  WOLVES'  FEAST. 

A  LITTLE  maid  went  tripping  through  the  wood, 
Sunny,  and  sweet,  and  gay,  in  light  or  shade, 
Most  like  a  gush  of  laughter,  or  a  song. 

She  and  the  world  were  young,  that  morning 

made, 

And  they  twain  played  together  children-wise. 
The  archer  sun  shot  at  her  shafts  of  gold, 
And  the  maid  caught  them  in  her  net  of  hair, 
And  kept  them  to  be  sunshine  round  her  head. 
The  fragrant  breezes  blew  into  her  face 
Out  from  the  laughing  heaven,  like  its  own  breaths, 
And  she  received  them  thence,  and  gave  them  back, 
Fragrance  for  fragrance.     Overhead  in  glee 
The  swinging  branches  clapped  their  leafy  hands 
To  cheer  her  ;  and  she,  pleased  with  their  applause, 
Ran  like  a  spirit.     Birds  from  every  bough 
Saluted  her  their  fellow,  and  her  voice 
Rang  birdlike  back,  in  gracious  mimicry, 


THE    WOLVES'  FEAST.  45 

Taking  and  giving  welcome  ;  till  at  last, 
Tired  with  her  too  much  gladness,  she  sat  down 
Upon  a  mossy  bank  amid  the  wood, 
And  sank  in  sleep — the  sudden,  utter  lapse 
Of  childhood  in  oblivion.     So  she  lay, 
The  basket  by  her  side  in  which  she  bore 
His  noon's  refreshment  to  her  father,  where 
He  swung  his  woodman's  ax  against  the  trees. 

He,  by  the  dial  of  his  appetite, 
Guessing  it  noon,  with  one  more  sturdy  blow 
To  sound  of  sudden  hearty  breath  sent  home, 
Drove  deep  the  biting  edge  into  the  quick 
Heart  of  the  wood,  and  left  it  fixed  ;  then  turned 
And  glanced  along  the  twinkling  path  of  green 
That  led  through  forest  to  his  cabin  ;  dwells 
A  doubtful  moment  looking  heedfully  ; 
Sees  nothing  that  he  seeks  ;  in  doubt  again, 
Takes  the  sun's  height  with  practised  eye,  and  notes 
How  fall  the  shadows,  wondering  more  and  more 
To  miss  the  coming  of  the  little  feet. 

With  slow,  suspicious  circumspection  now, 
The  father  in  him  roused  to  anxious  fears, 


46  THE   WOLVES1  FEAST. 

He  moves  his  steps  to  meet  his  child.     He  comes 
To  that  cool  bank  of  moss  whereon  she  sat, 
To  find — no  daughter.     There  her  basket  lay, 
Where  the  sleep-helpless  hand  had  slacked  its  hold 
Upon  it ;  but  the  little  hand  was  gone. 

Rapt  in  fixed  fear  and  horrible  suspense, 
He  strains  his  eyes  around  to  seize  some  hint 
Further  of  what  mishap  had  fallen  on  her. 
Nothing — save  a  chance  heap  of  withered  leaves 
Beside,  that  mocked  him  with  the  shape  and  size 
And  seeming  of  a  little  child's  fresh  grave. 
He  stares  vacantly  at  it,  and  the  wind 
Moved  it,  or  did  it  move  from  underneath  ? 
A  gentle  undulation  heaved  the  mound 
From  head  to  foot.     Then,  as  the  slumberer  turned 
Half  on  one  side  unconsciously,  apart 
Fell  the  light  coverlet  of  leaves,  and  forth 
A  little  aimless  hand  was  flung  to  view, 
Grasping  at  nothing  for  an  instant  seen, 
Seen  and  forgotten,  in  a  land  of  dreams. 

The  father  gave  no  pause  to  wonder  ;  stooped, 
Snatched  up  his  child  as  from  her  grave,  and  ran, 


THE    WOLVES'   FEAST.  47 

Ran  with  prone  speed  and  breathlessly, 
And  hid  his  darling  in  her  mother's  arms. 
Then,  without  stay  for  question  or  reply, 
Straight  he  sped  back  to  that  same  bank  of  moss 
Where,  adding  leaves,  he  heaped  the  mound  again 
With  heed,  and  brought  it  to  the  shape  and  size 
And  seeming  of  a  little  child's  fresh  grave. 
So  done,  he  chose,  amid  the  massy  top 
Of  a  full-foliaged  maple  standing  nigh, 
A   seat   where,    masked    from   sight,    he  might   at- 
tend 
What  sequel,  if  some  sequel,  should  ensue. 

With  long  leap,  leisurely,  a  file  of  wolves, 
As  to  some  goal,  drew  winding  through  the  wood, 
And  paused  beside   the   mound.     One  seemed  to 

guide, 

And  the  rest  heeded.     These,  in  grim  array, 
Ranged  in  a  row  of  expectation  sat, 
Gaunt  guests,  but  biding  till  the  feast  were  served. 
Then  he  that  seemed  to  guide  removed  the  leaves 
With  ceremony — to  find  his  feast  was  flown. 
He  crouched  in  craven  fear  at  that  surprise, 
Piteously  moaning  ;  but  a  dismal  howl 


48  THE   WOLVES'  FEAST. 

Of  grief  and  of  revenge  and  ravin  foiled 
Arising,  those  fell  brethren  of  the  wood 
Set  on  him  all  together,  tooth  and  claw, 
And  in  one  moment  rent  him  limb  from  limb. 

Feasted,  but  not  with  food,  they  went  away. 


THE  SONG   OF  RUNAWAY  POND.          49 


THE   SONG  OF   RUNAWAY   POND. 


"  Long  Pond,  or,  as  it  is  now  commonly  called,  '  Runaway  Pond,"  was 
formerly  situated  on  the  summit  of  a  hill  in  the  towns  of  Glover  and  Greens- 
borough,  Vt.,  and  was  one  of  the  sources  of  Lamoille  River.  In  June,  1810,  an 
attempt  was  made  to  open  an  outlet  from  it  to  Barton  River  on  the  north,  when 
the  whole  waters  of  the  pond,  which  was  one  and  a  half  miles  long  and  half  a  mile 
wide,  tore  their  way  through  the  quicksand,  which  was  only  separated  by  a  thin 
stratum  of  clay  from  the  pond,  and  advanced  in  a  wall  from  sixty  to  seventy  feet 
high  and  twenty  rods  wide,  carrying  before  them  mills,  houses,  barns,  fences, 
forests,  cattle,  horses,  and  sheep,  levelling  the  hills  and  filling  up  the  valleys  till 
they  reached  Lake  Memphremagog,  twenty-seven  miles  distant,  in  about  six  hours 
from  the  time  they  left  the  pond.  The  inhabitants  had  just  sufficient  notice  to 
escape  with  their  lives." — New  American  Cyclopaedia,  vol.  xvi.,  Art.  VERMONT. 


MY  throne  is  on  the  mountain,  and  underneath  my 

feet 
The     pulses    of     the    fountain    of     youth    eternal 

beat ; 
For  what  Adam's  sons  and  daughters  have  sought 

the  world  around, 
Beneath  my  own  bright  waters  and  without  quest 

I  found. 
3 


50  THE  SONG   OF  RUNAWAY  POND. 

So  no   rude   river   rushes  with   noise   athwart   my 

dreams, 
But  my  spring  within  me  gushes,  and   I   sit  above 

the  streams  ; 
And  my  ancient  heart  rejoices,  and  I  feel  as  young 

as  a  boy, 
I,  that   heard  when   the  stars  and   the  voices  sang 

together  and  shouted  for  joy. 


I  am  kindred  with '  earth  and  with  ocean,  I'm  in 
league  with  the  sun  and  the  sky, 

Our  couriers  are  ever  in  motion — they  run,  and  they 
fall,  and  they  fly  ; 

A  rivulet  runs  with  a  greeting  to  the  restless,  im- 
perious sea, 

He  runs  his  message  repeating  in  the  ear  of  the 
earth  for  me. 


I  signal  the  sun  in  the  morning  with  a  waft  from  my 

bright  water-woof, 
It  springs  upward  on  pinions  of  scorning,  and  soars 

to  the  sky's  azure  roof  ; 


THE  SONG   OF  RUNAWAY  POND.  51 

It  meets  a  cloud-argosy  sailing  with  news  from  the 

much-seeing  main, 
And  returns,  with  instinct  unfailing,  in  a  parachute 

fall  of  rain. 


I   have   held   my   changeless   station   six  thousand 

changeful  years, 
And  each  insect  generation  of  men,  with  their  hopes 

and  fears, 
Has  swarmed  into  sudden  existence,  and  fretting  its 

little  day, 
With  a  hopeless  wail  for  resistance,  has  been  whirled 

in  a  moment  away, 


While  I  in  my  prophet-trances  have  felt  them  come 

and  go 
But  as  tripping  troops  of  fancies  that  huddle  when 

breezes  blow, 
And  I  ripple  in  wavelets  of  laughter,  and  I  hug  the 

laughter  down, 
The   sunshine    shimmering  after,   till    I   gleam    all 

through  like  a  crown. 


52  THE  SONG   OF  RUNAWAY  POND. 

So  I  dwell  apart  from  the  riot  and  noise  of  men's 

tongues  and  their  deeds, 
At  ease  in  long  sabbaths  of  quiet  and  the  strength 

which  tranquillity  breeds  ; 
And  my  ancient  heart  rejoices,  and  I  feel  as  young 

as  a  boy, 
I,  that   heard  when   the  stars  and   the  voices  sang 

together  and  shouted  for  joy. 


n. 

But  a  strange,  incredible  rumor  is  brought  me  now 

and  again 
Of  some  wild,  presumptuous  humor  that  has  taken 

the  children  of  men. 
Do  they  deem  that  they  will  subdue  me  to  run  at 

their  bidding  and  beck  ? 
A  nameless  tremor  thrills  through  me  as  I  think  of 

the  ruin  and  wreck 

I  will  visit  on  them  in  the  hour  when  they  shatter 

the  holy  vase 
Where,  held  in  the  hand  of  His  power,  I  have  lain  in 

the  light  of  His  face. 


THE  SONG   OF  RUNAWAY  POND.  53 

Already  I  hear  them  approaching,  the  impious  race 

of  mankind, 
With  stroke  after  stroke  encroaching  on  my  rest  with 

purposes  blind. 


They  are  near,  and  nearer,  the  vessel  of  clay  that 

encloses  me  round ; 
I  rouse,  and  I  writhe,  and  I  wrestle,  I  shudder  and 

shake  at  the  sound  ! 
They  have  reached  it,  they  smote  it,  they  break  it — 

now,  now  is  my  moment  of  wrath  ; 
Woe,  woe  to  the  mortals  that  wake  it,  and  that  stand 

in  my  terrible  path  ! 


I  tower  on  a  swell  oceanic,  I  swing  my  flood-gates 

wide, 
I  stand  in   a  stature  Titanic,  I  take  one  dreadful 

stride — 
Down,  down  with  a  crash  like  the  thunder,  on,  on 

with  the  hurricane's  roar, 
As  his  bars  had  been  broken  asunder,  and    ocean 

were  shocking  the  shore. 


54  THE  SONG   OF  RUNAWAY  POND. 

I  roll  like  a  torrent  Atlantic  over  hill  and  valley  and 
wood ; 

I  will  wreak  a  vengeance  gigantic  on  man  and  his 
puny  brood. 

Oh !  'tis  joy  to  poise  me  impending  one  instant  be- 
fore I  fall, 

With  a  fury  that  mocks  his  defending,  on  his  homes 
and  his  hopes  and  his  all. 


How  this  forest  bends  beneath  me  !     I  will  pluck  it 

from  the  earth, 
And  its  garland  boughs  shall  wreathe  me  for  the 

revel  of  my  mirth. 
I  am  glad  and  mad  with  this  rattle  and  roar  of  my 

headlong  tide  ; 
I  will  scoop  up  their  sheep  and   their  cattle,   and 

give  them  a  cataract  ride. 


Aha!  I  see  they  have  captured  my  kinsman,  and 

set  him  in  thrall, 
But  he  hearkens  and  hears  me  enraptured,  as  I  rush 

to  his  rescue  and  call, 


THE  SONG   OF  RUNAWAY  POND.  55 

And  call  aloud,  with  a  clashing  of  the  spears  of  my 

warrior  waves, 
On-pouring,    deep-roaring,    high-dashing,   booming 

doom  in  all  ears  but  the  slave's. 


So  forward  with  flock,  herd,  and  dwelling,  with  mill 

and  harvest  and  wood, 
All  atilt  on  the  crests  of  my  swelling,  and  tossed  on 

the  horns  of  my  flood, 
Till  I  come  where  the  famished  abysses  wait  agape 

with  their  horrible  jaws, 
And  welcomed  with  kisses  and  hisses,  I  give  them  a 

glut  for  their  maws. 


Now  light  like  a  cavalcade  springing  to  the  front  of 
the  battle  with  speed, 

Each  rider  his  bridle-rein  flinging  on  the  thunder- 
clad  neck  of  his  steed, — 

But  I  see  my  vanguard  is  nearing  a  headland,  massy 
and  steep, 

And  I  choose  to  wheel  careering  with  a  wide  and 
winding  sweep. 


56  THE  SONG    OF  RUNAWAY  POND. 

And  here  a  sentinel  mountain  challenges  me  with  a 
frown, 

But  I  curl  my  crest  like  a  fountain  and  I  dash  the 
sentinel  down, 

And  over  the  slope  of  his  shoulder,  and  into  the  sub- 
ject plain, 

With  a  billowy  bound  the  bolder,  I  spring  to  my 
path  again. 


Surely  better  than  listless  contentment  to  be  lulled 

in  the  lap  of  my  hill, 
Is  this  rush  of  resistless  resentment,  this  march  of 

omnipotent  will. 
I  had  dreamed  not  the  power,  the  glory,  of  a  tumult 

of  motion  and  noise, 
This  race  is  the  pride  of  my  story,  this  roar  is  the 

crown  of  my  joys. 


But  I  see  the  gleam  of  the  waters  on  Memphrema- 

gog's  brow  ; 
I  have  emptied  my  vial  of  slaughters,  I  am  ready  for 

peace  again  now : 


THE  SONG    OF  RUNAWAY  POND.  57 

I  am  coming,  my  sister,  behold  me, — let  me  sink 

upon  your  breast, 
Once  open  your  arms  to  enfold  me,  and  I  shall  not 

break  your  rest. 

3* 


58  AUGURIES. 


AUGURIES. 

NEW  YEAR'S  MORN,  1877. 

Lo,  mingling  with  the  morning's  pleasant  glory 

In  the  fresh  East  there  hangs  an  alien  light — 
A  dull  red  gleam  of  token  sad  and  gory, 

Portending  war  and  war's  wide-wasting  blight ! 

This  New  Year's  dawn  it  draws  the  wistful  sight 
Of  half  the  expectant  nations  ;  there  it  glows 

Round   from   the   southward    toward   the   Arctic 

night, 

Glooming  the  Mediterranean,  while  it  throws 
Fiercely  a  sullen  flame  o'er  Scandinavian  snows. 

It  spans  mid-Europe,  and  the  continent 

Glimmers  beneath  the  vast  sepulchral  glare  ; 

The  Saracen  is  lighted  in  his  tent, 

And  sees  his  shadow  at  his  evening  prayer  ; 
Grimly  it  spreads  to  where  the  Russian  bear 


AUGURIES.  59 

Couches  in  snows  the  secret  of  his  power ; 

The  British  lion  from  his  island  lair 
Winks  and  returns  the  menace  with  a  glower, 
And  the  French  eagle  bides  the  portents  of  the  hour. 

By  thousand  leagues  of  ocean  poured  between,  '• 
God  guards  thee  safe,  my  country,  from  the  bale  ; 

No  brand  of  conflagration  kindling  keen, 
Borne  on  the  breast  of  any  westward  gale, 
Can  reach  thee,  fenced  within  thy  watery  pale  ; 

Let  Europe  all  flame  unto  flagrant  skies 

That  whelm  her  subject  lands  with  fiery  hail, 

Here  thou  mayst  sit  lifting  untroubled  eyes 

Up  to  a  heaven  o'er  which  pure  light  of  promise  lies. 

But  what  if  fire  within  thy  heart  be  pent ! 

What  if,  my  country,  though  thy  heaven  be  fair, 
Volcano  rouse,  and,  forcing  hideous  vent 

Through  thy  torn  bosom  to  the  upper  air, 

In  self-engendered  flames  enwrap  thee  there ! 
That  were  worse  ruin  :  that  thy  God  forefend  ! 

Quench  the  quick  spirit  of  fire  within  thee  !  Spare 
Lava  at  least  fed  from  thyself,  to  send 
Redoubling  flood  on  flood  to  waste  thee  without  end  ! 


60  THE  PREPARATION. 


THE    PREPARATION. 

"The  voice  of  him  that  crieth  in  the  wilderness,  Prepare  ye  the  way  of  the  Lord, 
make  straight  in  the  desert  a  highway  for  our  God.  Every  valley  shall  be  exalted, 
and  every  mountain  and  hill  shall  be  made  low :  and  the  crooked  shall  be  made 
straight  and  the  rough  places  plain  :  and  the  glory  of  the  I.ord  shall  be  revealed." 
— Old  Testament. 

As,  when  a  sovereign  of  the  Orient  moves 
With  stately  pomp  of  progress  through  his  land, 
And  heralds  cry  before  him,  where  he  goes  : 
"Cast  up 'a  highway  for  the  advancing  king!" 
The  obsequious  provinces,  with  eager  speed, 
Throng  to  the  pageant's  van  from  every  side, 
Pluck  up  the  rooted  forests  from  their,  seats, 
Bind  torrent  streams  with  bridges,  as  with  chains, 
Lift  up  the  valleys  and  bow  down  the  hills, 
To  smooth  a  broad  access  to  that  array  ; 
So  chosen  Hebrew,  Greek  cosmopolite, 
And  subjugating  Roman  joined  their  part 
With  other  names  besides  forgotten  now, 
Or  less  renowned — Egyptian,  Canaanite, 
Assyrian,  Median,  Persian — to  prepare 


THE  PREPARATION.  6 1 

From  age  to  age  a  wide  historic  way, 

Measuring  full  many  a  desert  tract  of  time, 

Spanning  full  many  a  secular  abyss — 

Blight,  famine,   plague,  earthquake,   and  war,   and 

waste — 
Before  the  coming  of  the  King  of  kings. 


62  OUR    CHRISTMAS  MORN. 


OUR  CHRISTMAS   MORN. 

WITH  joy  too  deep  for  mirth,  for  sensual  feast, 
And  echoing  laughter — joy  akin  to  tears, 
And  kindly  to  kind  deeds,  and  to  such  thought 
As  turns  to  love,  and  to  such  love  as  turns 
To  prayer,  and  is  returned  in  love  again 
Forever — so  we  hail  our  Christmas  morn ! 

O  day,  sweet,  if  for  but  the  gracious  guile 
We  force  on  fancy  to  believe  it  once 
Beheld  the  birth  of  Christ,  how  should  we  miss 
The  meaning  of  the  gospel  of  thy  dawn, 
To  let  it  usher  in  a  time  for  us 
Of  only  this  world's  gladness !     Not  for  this 
Was  that  child  born,  in  after  years  the  Man 
Of  sorrows,  and  the  Intimate  of  grief — 
To  fill  void  mouths  the  more  with  vulgar  cheer, 
And  flood  waste  hearts  with  wassail  for  a  day  : 
They  teach  us  Christmas  lore  who  know  not  Christ ! 


OUR   CHRISTMAS  MORN.  63 

O  Christ !    Teach  us  thyself  how  we  shall  best 
Honor  thy  birthday,  year  by  year,  when  we 
Are  born  ourselves  therein  anew  to  lives 
Like  thine,  of  exile  even,  or  sacrifice, 
Of  toils  and  tears,  to  save  the  souls  of  men  ! 


64  THE  OLD  YEAR  AND  THE  NEW. 


THE   OLD  YEAR  AND  THE  NEW. 

LAST  night  at  twelve,  amid  the  knee-deep  snows, 
A  child  of  Time  accepted  his  repose, — 
The  eighteen  hundred  fifty-sixth  of  grace, 
With  sudden  chance,  fejl  forward  on  his  face. 

Solemn  and  slow  the  winter  sun  had  gone, 
Sailing  full  early  for  the  port  of  dawn  ; 
Across  broad  zones  of  the  ethereal  sea, 
With  even  rate  he  voyaged  far  and  free, 
While  the  cone-shadow  of  the  earth  swept  round 
The  other  half  of  heaven's  embracing  bound — 
A  weird  and  mystic  dial-hand  to  mark, 
From  orb  to  orb,  along  a  shuddering  arc, 
Measured  to  music  of  the  sphery  chime, 
The  noiseless  process  of  eternal  time. 

I  walked  in  doubt  and  dread — as  if  the  weight 
Of  all  the  impending  heaven  upon  me  sate  : 


THE  OLD   YEAR  AND  THE  NEW.  65 

The  crisp  snow  creaked,  my  breath  pushed  stiffly 

out, 

And  keen  frost-sparkles  merrily  glanced  about ; 
The  clear  cold  stars  reached  down  a  frory  ray, 
Like  a  fine  icicle  accrete  of  spray, 
That  pricked  my  blood  with  many  a  light  attack 
Of  Lilliput  lances  in  my  front  and  back. 
For  every  several  nerve  alive  to  feel, 
The  eager  season  had  some  shrewd  appeal. 

And  so  the  fields  I  gained,  and  there  I  found 
The  fresh  dry  snow  laid  by  that  querulous  sound, 
And  all  grew  still  as  death.     Within  my  breast 
Hushing  the  noisy  heart-beat  on  I  pressed. 

The  punctual  shadow  to  the  summit  drew  ; 
Twelve  strokes  of  lighter  silence  fell  like  dew, 
Audible  to  the  spirit,  and,  behold, 
The  vision  of  the  Dead  Year  was  unrolled. 
Full-length    he    leaned    aslant    the    slumbering 

snow, 

Which  clad  all  things  in  Chinese  weeds  of  woe, 
Easing  his  fall — that  not  a  breath  might  mar 
The  listening  awe  that  yearned  from  snow  to  star. 


66  THE  OLD  YEAR  AND  THE  NEW. 

But  over  him  doth  a  fair  spirit  smile, 
As  fain  all  grief  with  gladness  to  beguile  ; 
A  torch  he  bears  to  light  the  world  anew — 
O  blithe  Young  Year,  but  keep  thy  promise  true .' 


A   NEW  YEAR'S   TRIFLE.  67 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  TRIFLE. 

WHAT  a  dreary,  sad  old  father 
Old  Father  Time  must  be, 

No  voices  round  his  hearth-stone, 
No  children  on  his  knee  ! 

The  little  infant  seconds 
And  minutes  cannot  stay, 

They  breathe  their  breath  of  being, 
And  go  the  breathless  way. 

The  hours  and  days  grow  older, 
But  have  a  hastening  date, 

They  die  before  their  childhood, 
And  choose  a  changeless  state. 

The  weeks  and  months  a  little 
Weep  for  their  kindred  dead, 

Then  yield  themselves  to  stillness, 
And  droop  the  dying  head. 


68  A   NEW  YEAR'S   TRIFLE. 

A  very  sad  old  father 

Old  Father  Time  must  be, 

No  voices  round  his  hearth-stone 
No  children  on  his  knee  ! 


DEDICATED.  69 


DEDICATED. 

BOOK  of  page  inviolate, 
Thee  I  seal  and  consecrate  ; 
Sacred  thou  henceforward  art 
Unto  scriptures  of  the  heart. 

Fair  and  innocent  thy  look, 
Leaves  unwritten,  little  book  ; 
Written  all  thy  leaves,  be  thou 
Innocently  fair  as  now ! 

Innocently  fair,  but  then 
Stored  and  storied  from  the  pen, 
Vow  of  friendship,  counsel  sage, 
Subtle  spell  on  every  page. 

Each  white  leaf  upturn  its  face 
With  a  meek,  imploring  grace, 
Pray  who  writes  bestow  good  care 
Not  to  fleck  what  now  is  fair. 


7°  DEDICATED. 

Little  book,  I  charge  thee  be 
Cheer  to  her  that  chose  out  thee  ; 
Comfort  her  with  hand  and  token, 
Signature  of  faith  unbroken. 

Hearken,  book,  a  secret  hear, 
Low,  bend  low,  thy  hoarding  ear, 
Close,  keep  close,  what  thee  I  tell, 
Or  ensure  thou  use  it  well ! 

Whose  thou  art,  her  breast  within, 
Hides  a  book  to  thee  a  twin  ; 
Many  a  page  is  virgin  still, 
She  may  write  there  what  she  will. 

Tell  no  other,  but  tell  her  ; 
Haste  to  tell,  and  not  defer  ; 
Tell  her,  bid  her,  beg,  conjure, — 
Make  those  living  scriptures  pure  ! 

Thou  wilt  perish  by  and  by, 
Little  book,  with  things  that  die  ; 
That,  with  things  that  live  forever, 
Will  abide,  to  perish  never, — 


DEDICAJED.  71 

Aye,  with  all  its  scriptures  clear, 
Rescued  from  the  burning  sphere, 
Will,  with  her  that  owns  it,  go 
Endless  ways  in  weal  or  woe. 

Faithful  monitor  be  thou  ; 

Sometimes,  when  she  bends  her  brow  • 

Over  thee  to  con  the  signs, 

Show  her  this  between  the  lines. 


72  IN  AN  ALBUM. 


IN  AN  ALBUM. 

As  flower  new-born  might  spring  to  light 
Amid  sweet  peers  of  earlier  prime, 

Yet  write  not  on  its  frail  leaves  bright 
Romancing  of  its  father  clime  ; 

As  star  might  waken  in  the  heaven 
Where  sister  stars  have  waked  for  aye, 

And,  watching  in  the  wakeful  even, 

Reveal  not  whence  she  brought  her  ray: 

So,  gentle  lady,  so  this  trace — 
Of  hand  that  may  trail  nevermore 

Its  simple  tracery,  to  chase, 

One  time  perhaps  your  memory  o'er, 

Forms  that  from  long,  long  flitted  days, 
When  thought  was  young  and  love  was  deep, 

Come  dimmest,  sweetest  through  the  maze 
And  melt  into  the  heaven  you  weep — 


IN  AN  ALBUM.  73 

So,  haply,  so  this  still  sad  sign 
Yet  to  your  casting  thought  shall  give 

No  image  of  the  strange  face  mine 
To  make  my  poor  remembrance  live ! 
4 


74  HO W  WE   CAME   TOGETHER. 


HOW  WE   CAME   TOGETHER. 

THORWALDSEN'S  Lion,  gray  and  grim, 

Rock  in  his  rocky  lair, 
On  who  would  rend  his  lily  from  him, 

Glowered  out  with  dying  glare. 

I  mused  awhile  the  sculptured  stone, 

My  pilgrim  staff  in  hand  , 
Then  turned  to  hold  my  way  alone, 

And  lone,  from  land  to  land. 

But  God  had  other  hap  in  store  : 

Even  as  I  turned  I  met 
A  manly  eye  ne'er  seen  before — 

I  seem  to  see  it  yet ! 

Vanish  the  changeful  years  between, 
Like  morning-smitten  rack  ; 

As,  morning-like,  that  crescent  scene 
Comes  dawning  swiftly  back. 


HOW  WE   CAME   TOGETHER.  7$ 

Again,  above,  that  mellow  noon 
And  soft  Swiss  heaven  doth  yearn  ; 

Frowns  still  on  us  in  pilgrim  shoon 
The  Lion  of  Lucerne. 

Once  more  each  other's  hands  we  take, 

The  pass-words  fly  betwixt ; 
Though  slack  the  speed  that  speech  may  make, 

When  heart  with  heart  is  mixed. 

I  see  the  green  Swiss  lake  asleep 

With  Righi  in  her  dream  ; 
We  cross  the  lake,  we  climb  the  steep 

To  watch  the  world  agleam. 

The  paths  are  many  up  the  slope, 

And  many  of  the  mind  ; 
We  catch  the  flying  clue  of  hope, 

And  wander  where  they  wind. 

The  paths  are  fresh,  the  pastures  green, 

In  walk  or  talk  traversed  ; 
The  Alpland  meadow's  grassy  sheen 

With  many  a  streamlet  nursed, 


76  HOW   WE   CAME    TOGETHER. 

And  the  fair  meadows  of  the  soul 

Forever  fresh  with  streams 
From  the  long  heights  of  youth  that  roll, 

The  Righi-Culm  of  dreams. 

We  speak  of  summits  hard  to  gain, 
And,  gained,  still  hard  to  keep  ; 

Of  pleasure  bought  with  glorious  pain, 
Of  tears  'twas  heaven  to  weep  ; 

And  of  a  blessed  Heavenly  Friend 
Who,  struggling  with  us  still, 

Would  break  the  blows  else  like  to  bend 
The  lonely  human  will ; 

Or  with  some  sudden  vital  touch, 

At  pinch  of  sorest  need, 
Would  lift  our  little  strength  to  much, 

And  energize  our  deed. 

Our  talk  flows  on,  through  strain  or  rest, 

As  up  the  steep  we  go  ; 
Each  untried  track  of  thought  seems  best 

In  hope's  prelusive  glow. 


HOW  WE   CAME    TOGETHER.  77 

We  loiter  while  the  sun  makes  haste, 

But  we  shall  yet  sit  down 
To  watch  the  gleams  of  sunset  chased 

From  mountain  crown  to  crown. 

Too  long,  too  late — the  splendor  went 

Or  e'er  we  reached  the  goal  ; 
But  a  splendor  had  dawned  that  will  never  be  spent 

That  day  on  either  soul ! 


78  TRANSFIGURED. 


TRANSFIGURED. 

PURE  after  pain,  the  earth  refined  away, 
Serenely  young,  renewed  in  maiden  bloom, 

Her  fair  hands  folded  on  her  heart,  she  lay 
In  gentle  death,  and  sanctified  the  room. 

The  bright  translucent  clay  to  which  she  turned, 
The  delicate  sculpture's  reasserted  grace, 

The  pure  white  sheen  that  on  her  forehead  burned 
And  fixed  the  glow  of  sainthood  in  her  face, — 

These  traits  of  clear  revival  after  death, 

This  flicker  of  refusal  to  decay, 
We  took  for  sign  of  soul  surviving  breath, 

And  seal  of  resurrection  on  the  clay. 

She  ceased  as  doth  a  benediction  cease, 

Her  parting  breath  pronounced  the  low  amen 

To  life's  long  toil  to  frame  the  whisper,  Peace — 
The  whisper  perfect,  wherefore  breathe  again  ? 


DESIDERIUM.  79 


DESIDERIUM. 

THE  shattered  water  plashes  down  the  ledge  ; 

The   long   ledge   slants  and    bends   between    its 

walls, 

And  shoots  the  current  over  many  an  edge 
•    Of  shelvy  rock,  in  thin  and  foamy  falls, — 
With    the    same    streaming    light    and    numerous 

sound, 
As  when  his  musing  way  he  duly  hither  wound. 

Up  by  this  path  along  the  streamlet's  brink, 
Into  the  cool  ravine  his  footsteps  wore  ; 

That  was  in  other  days — I  bow  and  think 
In  sadness  of  the  wealthy  days  of  yore, 

The  fair  far  days,  so  wholly  gone  away, 

When  love,  and  hope,  and  youth  before  us  boundless 
lay. 

He  was  a  kind  of  genius  of  the  glen, 

The  soul  of  sunshine  in  its  heart  of  gloom  ; 


80  DESIDERIUM. 

Nature's  great  mansion,  wide  to  other  men, 

Here  for  the  gentlest  guest  reserved  a  room, 
Where  she,  in  secret  from  the  general  throng, 
Welcomed  him  fleeing  oft  and  cheered  him  lingering 
long. 

But  hospitable  Nature  seeks  him  now 

Through  her  wide  halls  or  cloistered  cells  in  vain  ; 
The  wistful  face,  the  early  wrinkled  brow, 

The  peace  that  touched  and  purified  the  pain, 
The  slender  form,  dilate  with  noble  thought, 
The  woman's  welcoming  smile  for  all  fair  things  he 
brought  ; 

The  light,  quick  step,  elastic  but  not  strong, 

Alert  with  springing  spirit  and  tempered  nerve — 

Type  of  the  heart  direct  that  sped  along 
Swiftly  where  duty  led,  and  did  not  swerve 

For  count  of  odds,  or  dread  of  earthly  loss, 

Buoyed  with  the  costliest  strength  to  bear  the  heavi- 
est cross  ; 

These  tokens  of  that  gracious  presence  here, 
O  Nature,  you  and  I  together  mourn  ; 


DESIDERIUM.  8 1 

But  you  and  I,  O  Nature,  have  our  cheer 

Concerning  him  that  helps  our  loss  be  borne — 
You  mould  his  dust  to  keepsake  grass  and  flower, 
What  warmed  his  dust  moulds  me  to  forms  of  finer 
power. 

A* 


82  A   REMEMBERED    TEACHER. 


A   REMEMBERED   TEACHER. 

I  SEE  him  now,  importunate,  eager,  bold 
To  push  for  truth,  as  most  to  push  for  gold  ; 
Young  then,  with  youth's  fine  scorn  of  consequence 
He  weighed  no  whither,  so  he  knew  his  whence — 
Asked  only,  but  asked  hard,  Is  it  a  fact  ? 
That  point  well  sure,  deemed  then  he  nothing  lacked  ; 
Truth  was  from  God,  she  could  not  lead  astray  ; 
Fearlessly  glad  he  walked  in  Truth's  highway. 

Who  joined  him  there,  had  fellow  stout  to  cheer  ; 
Who  crossed,  met  foe  behooved  his  weal  to  fear ; 
His  quick,  keen,  urgent,  sinewy,  certain  thrust 
Those  knights  well  knew  who  felt  it  in  the  joust. 

Ideal-Christian  teacher,  master,  man, 
Severely  sweet,  a  gracious  Puritan, 
Beyond  my  praise  to-day,  beyond  their  blame, 
He  spurs  me  yet  with  his  remembered  name  ! 


LIFE   OF  HIS  LIFE.  83 


LIFE  OF   HIS   LIFE. 

No  barren  mere  mechanic  art 

The  teacher's,  his  no  casual  touch 

Of  mind  to  mind,  that  may  impart 
A  sum  of  knowledge,  such  or  such. 

Far  other  worth,  and  other  cost, 
His  high  vicarious  task  implies  ; 

He  must  himself  be  sunk  and  lost 
To  make  his  fellow  strong  and  wise. 

Dissolved,  diffused,  and  ambient, 
Like  an  involving  atmosphere, 

An  influence  and  an  element 

To  work  a  work  and  not  appear, 

The  teacher  born  from  God  to  teach, 
About  his  pupils,  hid  from  sight, 

Broods,  and  invests  them,  moulding  each 
With  plastic  pressure  day  and  night. 


84  LIFE   OF  HIS  LIFE. 

A  living  and  life-giving  force, 

Oft  present  most  when  most  unguessed, 
A  hidden  or  unheeded  source 

Supplied  to  many  a  distant  breast, 

Through  cunning  conduits  flowing  power, 
Fresh  power  to  think,  to  will,  to  do, 

And  meet  the  challenge  of  the  hour, 
Whatever  that  may  summon  to — 

But  signs  still  fail  and  leave  untold 
What  the  true  teacher  is  to  us, 

The  transformation  manifold 
He  undergoes,  becoming  thus 

A  spur  forever  in  the  side, 

A  mettle  mingled  with  the  blood, 

And  in  the  ear,  to  cheer  or  chide, 
A  haunting  voice  well  understood ; 

A  pang  of  passionate  desire 

To  end  the  path  and  gain  the  goal, 

A  seed  of  quick  and  quenchless  fire, 
A  touch  of  torment  to  the  soul — 


LIFE   OF  HIS  LIFE.  85 

Torment  she  loves,  and  would  not  miss, 

The  anguish  of  impossible  aims, 
Ennobling  thirst  for  nobler  bliss 

That  burns  her  with  immortal  flames. 

Such  forms  of  force  the  teacher  is, 

The  teacher  by  all  instinct  such; 
A  god-like,  awful  office  his, 

The  gift  of  the  vivific  touch. 

Life  of  his  life  he  takes  to  give, 

As  a  creator  gives,  to  men  ; 
But  first  they  too  themselves  must  live, 

And  answer  life  with  life  again. 

Then,  as  two  sparks  to  mate  endowed, 
Each  to  the  other  in  flash  of  flame 

Leap  and  embrace  from  cloud  to  cloud, 
Instantly  true  to  kindred  claim, 

So  the  true  pupil  springs  to  take 

What  springs  to  give  the  teacher  true  ; 

Electric  circuit  met  they  make, 

And  the  soul's  lightning  flashes  through. 


86  A  REGRET. 


A  REGRET. 

I  WOULD  I  were  alumnus  here  to-day  ! 
I  would  these  pleasant  haunts  of  task  or  play 
Were  eloquent  to  me  of  vanished  youth, 
And  youth's  high  heart  and  gallant  quest  of  truth  ! 
I  would  the  gentle  genius  of  the  place 
Might  yield  for  once  a  friendly  guest  the  grace 
To  greet  him  son,  bid  him  here  cease  to  roam 
And  rest  him  here,  again  a  child  at  home  ! 
How  would  I  grasp  the  old  familiar  hands, 
How  join  with  joy  the  old  congenial  bands 
Of  choicer  souls,  the  noble  brotherhood 
Who  made  each  other's  gain  their  common  good 

At  every  turn  a  quicker  beat  of  heart 
To  some  new  touch  of  auld  lang  syne  should  start  ; 
No  spot  of  earth,  no  space  of  summer  sky 
That  should  not  look  the  look  of  days  gone  by. 
The  walks  where  we  at  eve  together  strayed, 
The  cheerful  meadow,  melancholy  shade, 


A   REGRET.  87 

• 

The  slope  of  hill,  the  solemn  river-marge, 
The  sweep  of  valley  landscape  fair  and  large — 
All  these  bright  aspects  should  bring  back  the  time 
When  life  with  Nature  beat  to  perfect  rhyme. 
The  dear  old  buildings,  bare  to  alien  eyes, 
Should  throng  their  ancient  fronts  with  memories  ; 
Casement,  and  coigne,  each  doorway's  square  recess, 
Cornice,  and  cope,  and  cupola  no  less, 
Like  some  gray  Gothic  pile's,  should  seem  to  swarm 
With  storied  emblem  quaint,  and  carven  form. 

Fair  genius  of  the  spot,  pray  whisper  low 
A  hint  to  me  of  what  I  long  to  know ; 
Unbind  your  breast  to  me,  and  part  your  store 
Of  all  this  place's  legendary  lore  ; 
The  blind  tradition  you  so  blithely  read 
Is  traced  in  lines  that  mock  my  utmost  heed. 

Alas  !  but  nay,  my  conjuration  fails  ; 
I  win  from  him  not  one  of  all  his  tales; 
Fast  locked  he  keeps  his  legendary  lore, 
Still  mute  to  me,  however  I  implore. 
Alone  I  walk  amid  a  viewless  throng, 
Unhearing  hearken  to  a  silent  song. 


88  THE  OPEN  GUILD  OF  LETTERS. 


THE  OPEN   GUILD   OF   LETTERS. 

THE  OLD  MEMBERS  TO  THE  NEW. 

WE  greet  you  of  us  with  heart-felt  applause, 
We  hail  you  brothers  in  a  common  cause. 
One  is  the  spirit,  yours,  who  give  your  gain, 
And  ours,  who  give  unhoarded  heart  and  brain, 
To  endow  the  great  young  future  at  our  door 
With  mind  more  skill,  with  knowledge  ampler  store. 
We  work  together  in  that  goodly  guild 
And  ancient  fellowship  of  letters,  filled 
With  the  fine  ardor  that  Erasmus  knew, 
The  breath  of  great  desire  that  Milton  drew. 

Joyful  build  ye  your  monuments,  to  stand 
Long  as  the  date  lasts  of  your  native  land. 
There  is  no  more  immortal  mortal  thought 
Than  inspiration  to  this  fashion  wrought. 
Oxford  and  Cambridge,  through  their  long  young 

eld, 
The  placid  levels  of  calm  peace  have  held, 


THE  OPEN  GUILD  OF  LETTERS.  89 

While  round  them  dynasties  have  gone  to  doom, 
Or  commonwealth  exchanged  with  kingdom  room. 
The  Sorbonne,  in  its  ancient  neighborhood, 
Safe  in  the  common  awe,  untouched  has  stood, 
Full  in  the  central  vortex  of  the  wild 
Whirlwind  of  revolution,  and  has  smiled, 
Seeing  the  pillared  fabric  of  the  state, 
Spurned  from  the  deep  foundations  where  it  sate, 
Spin  like  a  bauble  in  the  eddying  air, 
Vanish  to  wrack  amid  the  tempest  there, — 
And  steadfast  as  a  star  the  light  has  shone 
That  blazons  still  the  name  of  De  Sorbonne. 

Who   founds   a   school   of   learning  gifts   his 

name 

With  most  sure  perpetuity  of  fame  ; 
When  will  the  faithful  fond  tradition  fail 
That  links  its  founder  with  the  fame  of  Yale  ? 
How  else  could  he  who  gave  his  name  to  Brown 
Have  gained  the  lease  he  holds  of  long  renown  ? 
Harvard  and  Phillips — blithe  their  memory  springs 
And  shames  the  oblivion  of  coeval  kings  ; 
And  fresh  his  leaf  on  Vassar's  brow  shall  bide, 
Securely  charmed  from  withering,  when  the  pride 


90  THE  OPEN  GUILD  OF  LETTERS. 

Of  many  a  statesman's,  many  a  soldier's  bay, 
Green  on  their  foreheads  now,  has  passed  away. 

Though  spoken  not,  men  yet  might  guess  the 

name — 

No  name  but  one  would  match  the  mighty  fame — 
A  patriot  statesman's,  whose  career  of  power 
Still  makes  his  alma  mater's  richest  dower. 
Could  one  but  limn  him,  featured  like  the  god 
That  erst  Olympus  wielded  with  his  nod, 
But  bid  once  more  the  thunders  of  that  voice 
Make  traitors  tremble,  patriot  hearts  rejoice, 
That  form  august,  that  kingly,  awful  mien 
Could  one  but  conjure  back  upon  the  scene, 
Show  us  again  the  grave,  majestic  gait, 
Steadfast  and  slow,  in  which  he  bore  the  State, 
In  which  the  growing  State  Christopherus  bore, 
With  faithful,  patient  strength,  from  shore  to  shore, 
Across  the  heady  current  of  an  age 
That  stormed  and  fumed,  with  ineffectual  rage, 
Eager  to  overturn,  to  overwhelm 
The  trembling  balanced  hopes  of  freedom's  realm, — 
No  tongue  would  falter  from  the  full  acclaim, 
Webster  ! — one  voice,  and  one  centennial  name. 


THE  OPEN  GUILD  OF  LETTERS.  91 

He  nursed  his  giant  boyhood  at  the  breast 
Of  mountains  in  our  Alpland  of  the  West, 
Fit  nurture  seemed  it,  when  he  came  to  tower 
A  mountain  among  men,  a  peak  of  power, 
That  took  the  scar  of  thunder,  scath  of  storm, 
Brand  of  live  lightning,  with  his  lordly  form, 
But  stood  despite,  nay,  brother  to  the  cloud, 
Himself  seemed  master  of  the  tempest  loud, 
Hurling  his  bolts,  and  flashing  far  the  blade 
Of  vivid  vengeance  that  his  genius  swayed. 
Yet  oftenest  fixed  in  mountainous  repose — 
As  when  Mont  Blanc  uplifts  his  scalp  of  snows 
In  the  white  sunshine  and  the  blinding  sky, 
Seems  still  to  frown,  but  puts  his  thunder  by — 
He  loved  at  peace  to  dwell  among  his  kind, 
Whom  well  that  bodeful  brow  to  peace  inclined. 

Though   false   unkind    refractions   warp   the 

ray 

By  which  they  read  his  character  to-day, 
Yet  was  this  man  our  greatest,  since  the  sun 
Missed  to  survey  the  mould  of  Washington. 
But  had  no  rural  Dartmouth  hard  beside 
His  father's  stubborn  acres,  opened  wide 


92  THE  OPEN  GUILD  OF  LETTERS. 

A  door  of  opportunity  and  scope 

Before  the  brave  old  man's  pathetic  hope 

To  raise  his  children's  future  chance  somewhat 

Above  the  level  of  his  lowly  lot, — 

Perhaps  instead  of  him  they  laid  to  sleep 

At  Marshfield  on  the  margin  of  the  deep, 

The  ocean  nature  by  the  ocean  wave 

That  kneels  in  ceaseless  homage  at  his  grave, 

The  Atlantean  shoulder  bowed  to  bear 

The  great  weight  of  his  country's  cause  and  care, 

A  mute,  inglorious  Webster  now  might  lie, 

Dead  and  forgot  beneath  his  natal  sky. 

Aye,  his  best  title  to  his  noble  name, 

The  safest  lodged  from  heirs  to  bring  it  shame, 

Lord  Dartmouth  in  that  namesake  college  won 

Which  found  in  Webster  fostering  foster-son. 

So  speed  of  God  we  give  you,  noble  band, 
The  good   deeds  prosper  which  your  hearts  have 

planned  ! 

Like  the  divining-rod  they  feigned  of  old 
Instinct  with  sense  for  feeling  hidden  gold, 
The  seats  of  learning  which  you  thus  shall  found 
Will  range  and  search  through  all  the  region  round, 


THE  OPEN  GUILD  OF  LETTERS.  93 

With  a  tentacular  fine  tact,  to  find 
Treasures  more  fair  of  else  unwakened  mind, — 
The  quest  still  thriving  after  you  have  gone, 
Till  that  pure  day  of  perfect  knowledge  dawn. 


94  COURAGE. 


COURAGE. 

AN     EPIGRAM  . 

SOLDIERS  twain  stood  facing  danger, 
Side  by  side,  alone  and  still ; 

Bold  was  one,  to  fear  a  stranger, 
Light  of  thought  as  stout  of  will. 

But  the  other,  grave  and  serious, 
Deeply  pondered  where  he  stood, 

Felt  the  spell  of  the  mysterious 
Overshadowing  neighborhood 

Of  the  mortal  menace  hidden 

In  that  moment's  sudden  chance  ; 

Till  the  throng  of  thoughts  unbidden 
Trampled  white  his  countenance. 

Then  his  comrade  marked  his  pallor 
And  a  rallying  charge  he  made, 

Out  of  his  light-hearted  valor 

Lightly  spoken,  "  You're  afraid  ! " 


COURAGE.  95 

"  True,  my  friend,"  with  blanched  lips  said  he  ; 
"  I  have  fear  as  you  have  none  ; 
But  I  stand  here,  staunch  and  steady, — 
You,  with  half  my  fear,  would  run  ! " 


96  SUGGESTION. 


SUGGESTION 

OF  A  STANZA  TO  STAND  AS  THE  CONCLUDING  ONE  TO 
BRYANT'S  "JUNE." 


Then  gently  o'er  their  hearts  at  last 
A  soothing  change  should  steal — 
The  darkness  of  the  pensive  past 
A  sense  like  dawn  should  feel ; 
The  tearful  memory  of  their  friend 
In  tranquil  tearful  hope  should  end, 

The  scene  a  scene  reveal, 
Where  breeze  and  song  and  light  and  bloom 
Have  found  a  land  without  a  tomb. 


TRANSLATION  OF  HOMER.  97 


EXPERIMENTS   IN  LITERAL  TRANSLA- 
TION OF  HOMER. 


THE  anger,  goddess,  sing,  of  Peleus'  son, 
Achilles, — anger  dire,  that  on  the  Greeks 
Brought  myriad  woes,  and  many  mighty  souls 
Too  soon  of  heroes  unto  Hades  sent, 
And  gave  themselves  a  ravin  to  the  dogs 
And  to  all  birds  of  prey — howbeit  the  will 
Of  Zeus  fulfilled  itself — even  from  the  time 
That  first  they  two,  Atrides,  king  of  men, 
And  high  Achilles,  wrangling  fell  apart. 

ILIAD,  I.  1-7. 

2. 

Zeus  spake,  and  with  his  dark  brows  gave  the 

nod  : 

The  ambrosial  locks  therewith   streamed   from  the 
king's 
5 


98  TRANSLATION  OF  HOMER. 

Immortal  head  ;  Olympus  great  it  shook. 
These  two,  thus  having  counselled,  parted  ;  she 
Leapt  thereupon  into  the  deep  sea-brine 
From  bright  Olympus — to  his  dwelling  Zeus. 
The  gods  together  all  rose  from  their  seats 
Before  their  sire,  nor  any  durst  abide 
Him  coming,  but  they  all  to  meet  him  stood. 
So  he  there  sat  him  down  upon  his  throne  ; 
Nor  seeing  him  was  Here  not  aware 
That  with  him  had  deliberated  plans 
The  daughter  of  the  Ancient  of  the  sea, 
Thetis  of  silver  foot.     With  cutting  words, 
Straightway  the  son  of  Kronos,  Zeus,  she  hailed. 

ILIAD,  I.  528-539. 


He    spake ;    the    goddess,   white-armed    Here, 

smiled  ; 

And  smiling  she  accepted  with  her  hand 
The  goblet  from  her  son.     But  he  from  right 
To  left  to  all  the  other  gods  poured  out 
Sweet  nectar,  drawing  from  the  mixing-bowl : 
And  inextinguishable  laughter  then  was  roused 


TRANSLATION  OF  HOMER.  99 

Among  the  blessed  gods,  when  they  beheld 
Hephaestus  brisking  through  the  palace  halls. 

So  all  day  long  unto  the  setting  sun 
They  feasted  then,  nor  of  an  equal  feast 
Failed  the  desire  in  aught,  not  of  the  harp 
Exceeding  beautiful  which  Phoebus  held, 
Or  of  the  Muses  who  with  beautiful  voice 
Alternate  sang  responsive  each  to  each. 
But  when  the  sun's  resplendent  light  was  set, 
Desiring  to  lie  down  they  homeward  went, 
Each  where  for  each  the  far-renowned  lame 
Hephaestus  built  a  house  with  cunning  skill. 
The  Olympian  Flasher  of  the  Lightning,  Zeus, 
Went  to  his  couch  where  erst  he  wont  to  lie 
When  sweet  sleep  came  on  him  ;  ascending  there 
He  slept,  and  Here,  golden-throned,  beside. 

ILIAD,  I.  595-611. 


The  rest  sat  down,  and  in  the  seats  were  quelled. 
Thersites  only  still  kept  clamoring  on, 
Licentious-tongued  ;  who  many  a  shameless  phrase 


100  TRANSLATION  OF  HOMER. 

Knew  in  his  mind,  hap-hazard,  lawlessly 

To    brawl   with    kings — whate'er    might    seem    to 

him 

To  be  droll  for  the  Greeks.     The  ugliest  man 
That  came  to  Ilium  ;  bandy-legged  he  was, 
Lame  in  one  foot ;  and  his  bent  shoulders  twain 
Hugged  o'er  his  chest  together,  while  above 
Peaked  of  head  was  he,  and  thereupon 
A  thin-worn  plush  of  flossy  hair  adhered. 

ILIAD,  II.  211-219. 


As  when  upon  a  many-echoing  shore, 
Billow  fast  following  billow  of  the  sea 
Is  roused  beneath  the  thronging  western  wind, 
Upon  the  deep  at  first  it  towers  its  height, 
And  next,  shattered  against  the  continent,  booms 
Mightily,  and  round  the  crags  its  curling  crest 
Uprears,  and  spouts  its  spray  of  brine  afar, 
So  ranks  fast  following  ranks  of  Danaans  then 
Ceaselessly  on  and  on  thronged  to  the  war. 

ILIAD,  IV.  422-428. 


TRANSLATION  OF  HOMER.  IOI 


6. 


So  having  said,  resplendent  Hector  reached 
To  take  his  child.     But  backward  he,  the  child, 
Toward  the  fair-girdled  nurse's  bosom  drew, 
Crying,  abashed  at  the  dear  father's  looks, 
And  frightened  by  his  mail  ;  he  saw  the  crest 
Of  horse-hair  from  the  summit  of  the  helm 
Terribly  waving,  eyeing  it ;  outright 
Both  the  dear  father  and  queen-mother  laughed. 
Straight  from  his  head  resplendent  Hector  took 
The  helm,  and  placed  it  glittering  on  the  ground. 
When  he  besides  had  kissed  his  darling  son 
And  tossed  him  in  his  hands,  alike  to  Zeus 
And  to  the  other  gods  praying,  he  spoke  : 
*  #  *  *  * 

So  having  said,  he  gave  into  the  hands 
Of  the  dear  wife  his  boy  ;  she  tearfully 
Smiling,  to  her  sweet  bosom  took  him  then. 
Regarding  her  the  husband  pitied  her  ; 
Both  with  his  hand  he  soothed  her,  and  he  spoke. 
ILIAD,  VI.  466-475,  482-485. 


102  A  SABBATH  AT  SEA. 


A  SABBATH   AT   SEA. 

THE  Voice  that  walked  o'er  Galilee 
Hath  spoken  from  on  high  ; 

The  sky  keeps  sabbath  with  the  sea, 
The  air  with  sea  and  sky. 

Thine,  Lord,  is  this  sabbatic  sky, 

Thine  this  sabbatic  sea, 
This  broad  sabbatic  air  bears  by 

Burdens  of  rest  from  Thee. 

To  this  deep  sabbath  flowing  round 

And  o'er  and  under  me, 
My  soul  within  her  mystic  bound 

Answers,  as  sea  to  sea. 

Voice,  flown  from  Galilee  to  heaven ! 

That,  dropping  chrismal  speech, 
Canst  all  day  long  and  all  the  seven 

Sabbatic  gospels  preach, — 


A   SABBATH  AT  SEA.  103 

Thanks  yet  for  this  pacific  hour 

Of  Sabbath  on  the  sea — 
To  feel  the  breathing  rest  of  power 

Is  strength  and  rest  to  me. 


104  THE   CLEAR  PEARL. 


THE   CLEAR   PEARL. 

EACH  heart  is  shrouded  many-fold  from  all 
Save  her  own  introspections,  and  the  pure 
All-seeing.     Nothing  intercepts  that  sight, 
Watching  the  innermost  deeps  ;  but  clouds  of  sin, 
The  false  reflexes  of  her  self-deceit, 
The  uncertain  shapes  of  passions,  and  the  arts 
Of  Satan  have  some  power  to  warp  and  sway 
The    heart's   self -judgments ;    yet,    the   wish   being 

strong, 

The  interior  eye  can  pierce  these  shroudings,  search 
The  heart  of  the  heart,  and  know  the  last  intent. 

Oh,  happy  they  who,  searching  so,  discern, 
In  the  still  depths  of  spirit,  the  clear  pearl 
Of  a  true  thought  to  do  the  will  of  God  ! 


GRACE,   NOT  NATURE.  105 


GRACE,   NOT  NATURE. 

NOT  native  gentleness  of  heart, 
Untaught  submissiveness  of  will, 
The  softly  tones,  the  manner  still, 

The  yielding  grace,  the  placid  part ; 

Not  perfect  trace  of  lineament, 

Not  rose  on  cheek,  not  light  in  eye, 
Or  finished  form,  or  bearing  high, 

Or  smiles  or  tears  to  others  lent, 

Most  profit ;  but  a  tempest  quelled, 
The  rebel  passions  reason-swayed, 
A  turbid  spirit  crystal  made, 

And  all  self-centred,  self-upheld. 

A  human  will  divorced  from  sin  ! 
Not  over-prone  to  do  the  wrong, 
But  merged  in  His  to  whom  belong 

The  worlds  without,  the  soul  within. 
5* 


106  V ANITAS   VANITATUM. 


VANITAS  VANITATUM. 

THERE  is  no  profit  in  the  earth — the  gems  which 

seem 

Deceive  us,  with  a  mocking,  borrowed  beam. 
\Ve  are  somnambulists  \  this  mortal  state 
Is  a  sleep-walking  only — we  await 
The  voice  of  God  to  rouse  us  ; — like  a  fool, 
Who  sees  the  mirrored  sky  within  a  pool, 
And  claps  his  hands,  deeming  the  splendid  scene 
Indeed  beneath  the  wave,  indeed  terrene, 
Nor  lifts  one  upward  glance  to  where  true  heaven 
Is  bright  with  sunny  noon  or  starry  even — 
Like  him,  we  dive  in  a  deceiving  sea 
And  grasp  at  pearls  with  idiotic  glee, 
Which  are  but  imitations  of  the  true, 
Deluded  with  a  fashion  and  a  hue  ! 


CHRIST  IN  ME.  IO/ 


CHRIST  IN  ME. 

WOULD  I  could  make  my  fellows  know 
All  that  in  me  my  Lord  hath  wrought ! 

I  strive  in  vain  the  truth  to  show, 
I  cannot  speak  it  as  I  ought. 

If,  when  men  smite  me,  I  am  meek, 
If,  when  they  wrong  me,  I  forgive, 

And,  wroth,  refuse  my  wrath  to  wreak, — 
That,  friends,  is  Christ  doth  in  me  live. 

If  with  the  joyful  I  am  glad, 

Or,  apt  in  fellowship  of  cheer, 
I  with  the  sorrowful  am  sad, 

Christ's,  and  not  mine,  that  smile  or  tear. 

Nothing  am  I  that  is  not  he, 

Nothing  of  gracious,  fair,  or  good  ; 

Would  I  could  make  my  fellows  see 
The  lovely  secret  as  they  should  ! 


108  GRACE  FOR   GRACE. 


GRACE  FOR  GRACE. 

A  FAIR  composure  in  the  face, 
A  musing  mildness  in  the  eye, 

Tones  tuned  to  tenderness  and  grace, 
A  smile  like  morning  in  the  sky ; 

A  floating  motion,  soft  and  slow, 

And  rhythmic,  like  more  perfect  rest, 

Swayed  as  to  some  melodious  flow 
Of  silent  music  in  the  breast — 

Traits  such  as  these,  my  darling,  may, 
With  mask  of  placid  manner,  hide 

Passions  that,  couchant  beasts  of  prey, 
Do  but  their  chance  of  springing  bide. 

Well  for  us  there  is  One  can  make 
These  tigers  of  the  bosom  tame  ; 

The  sleek,  sly,  savage  monsters  take 
Their  will  of  every  lesser  name. 


GRACE  FOR   GRACE.  I  Op 

But  his,  but  Christ's,  .has  power  to  quell 
The  lurking  wildness  in  the  blood, 

To  quench  the  hidden  fires  of  hell 
That  inly  brew  the  future  flood. 

Bestead  us,  Christ!     We  fain  would  learn 
The  lesson  none  can  teach  but  thee  ; 

Us  from  our  self-deceiving  turn  ; 
We  tire  of  seeming  and  would  be — 

Be  gracious  to  the  inmost  core, 
In  to  the  depths  serene  and  sweet, 

Stilled  to  beneath  where  waves  could  roar, 
Or  the  world's  tempests  vainly  beat  ! 

So  mastered,  we  shall  meetly  wear 
The  soul's  own  beauty  on  the  face, 

And  what  men  find  in  us  of  fair, 

No  mask,  will  be  but  grace  for  grace. 


1 10  AN  IDEAL  AND  A    WISH. 


AN  IDEAL  AND  A  WISH. 

MILD  as  a  slowly  northward-breathing  air, 

Artless  as  very  nature,  and  a  heart, 
To  kindly  eyes,  as  clear,  and  free,  and  fair, 

In  to  the  depths,  as  that  Caribbean  part 
Lucid  and  deep  of  the  Atlantic  sea  ; 

Doing  the  stern,  hard  duties  with  no  stern 
And  hard  but  a  most  meek  humility, 

Crowning  their  barren  with  such  deeds  as  earn 
Leaf  of  fair  guerdon  freshening  into  green — 

All  those  dear  gentle  charities  of  life, 
Unmarked  it  may  be,  which  have  always  been 

Dowried  with  largest  gift  to  grace  the  wife, 
Invest  the  mother  with  celestial  seeming, 

And  change  the  daughter  to  a  ministering  saint — 
Follower  of  Jesus,  all  things  dross  esteeming, 

Of  costliest  purchase,  for  the  dear  constraint 
Wherewith  his  love  doth  draw  the  loved  one  nearer, 

Living  on  earth  the  heavenly  life  he  brought ; 
Even  such  be  thou,  and  of  such  name  the  hearer, 

Receiving   last  the  wreath  for   lowly  conquerors 
wrought ! 


GOOD   CHEER.  Ill 


GOOD  CHEER. 

THE  little  maid  spoke  arch  and  bright ; 

There's  one,  quoth  she,  of  Christ's  commands 
To  me  indeed  a  burden  light — 

"  Be  of  good  cheer,"  the  statute  stands. 

She  smiled  into  her  father's  face  ; 

I  kissed  her  for  her  bonny  smile  ; 
I  tried  to  give  her  grace  for  grace 

Of  gladness,  but  I  sighed  the  while — 

« 

Sighed,  for  I  thought,  What  can  she  know, 

Dear  little  heart,  of  things  to  be  ? 
Who  gladdens  but  as  blossoms  blow, 

Or  warble  birds,  unconsciously. 

"  Be  of  good  cheer  "  is  not  for  her  ; 

Is  of  good  cheer — describes  her  state  :  • 
How  could  she,  if  she  would,  demur, 

Who  never  was  disconsolate  ? 


112  GOOD   CHEER. 

God  bless  thee,  bless  thee,  darling  child  ! 

The  years  will  teach  thee  fast  enough 
How  gentle  weathers  change  to  wild, 

And  soft,  smooth  ways  to  hard  and  rough ! 

Joyful  thou,  not  obedient,  art ; 

The  bidding  finds  thee  forth  on  wing, 
Obeying  but  thine  own  free  heart, 

And  that  blithe  blood  of  life's  young  spring 

Bright-hearted  welcomer  of  fate, 
Not  always  wilt  thou  thus  prevail ; 

Also  to  thee,  or  soon  or  late, 

Those  vital  springs  of  joy  will  fail. 

Then  of  good  cheer  to  be,  when  all 
Within,  without,  is  dark  of  cheer, 

Yet  the  same  voice,  the  still,  the  small, 
In  the  same  whisper  at  thine  ear, 

"  Be  of  good  cheer,"  saith,  calm  and  mild, 
But  calm  and  strong  to  be  obeyed — 

That  Christ  may  crown  thee  thus,  my  child, 
I  have  this  silent  moment  prayed. 


TIDES.  1 1 3 


TIDES. 

As  when  the  sea  swells,  lifted  by  the  moon, 
And  pours,  in  one  wide  cataract,  to  the  shore, 
Then  the  precipitant  waters,  at  each  door 

Of  inlet  to  the  mainland,  importune 

To  be  admitted,  and,  admitted,  soon 

Brim  creek  and  bay  with  ocean  running  o'er, 
Till  their  desirous  banks  can  bound  no  more, 

And  sit  content  but  to  contain  the  boon  ; 

Yet  haply,  here  or  there,  some  sluiceway  sealed 

Might  interpose  inhospitable  bar 

To  the  sea's  suit,  however  he  appealed 

With  his  tide's  stress  and  influence  of  the  star, 

Arid  gates  of  want  where  suppliant  wealth   had 
kneeled 

Bide  unenriched  by  bounty  brought  *so  far  : 

So  tides  sometimes  of  influence  from  the  sea 
Of  the  Immortal  Life  that,  pressing  round, 
Invests  the  mortal  lives  of  men,  redound 

In  the  main's  mighty  multitudinous  plea 


1 14  TIDES. 

And  gentle  surge  of  importunity, 

Against  the  barriers  that  our  being  bound, 
To  seek  if  there  some  ready  sluice  be  found, 

And  soul  not  loth  full-brimmed  with  God  to  be  ; 
Then,  lifted  high  the  gladsome  gates  of  will, 

And  wide  withdrawn  the  self-withdrawing  doors, 
The  ocean  of  the  fulness  of  the  still 

Spirit  of  God  into  the  spirit  pours  ; 

Yet  souls  that  list  keep  fast  their  gates,  until 

The  sea  recedes  and  leaves  them  empty  shores ! 


MY  OPEN  POLAR  SEA.  115 


MY  OPEN  POLAR  SEA. 

As  those  who  sail  in  quest  of  quiet  seas, 
Supposed  to  sleep  about  the  sleeping  pole, 
Eternal  halcyon  waves,  the  term  and  goal 

Of  hazard,  and  of  hope,  and  hope's  unease, 

Deep  bays,  bright  islands,  happy  haunts — as  these, 
Whatever  chances  breasting,  armed  in  soul 
To  do  or  suffer,  so  to  know  the  whole, 

Stem  toward  the  Arctic  up  the  steep  degrees, 
Nor  daunted,  though  a  frozen  continent 

Thwart  them  with  sheer  obstruction,  coast  along, 
And  seek  and  find  somewhere  the  straitening  rent 

That  yields  them  grudged  entrance,  right  or  wrong  ; 
And  still  they  strive,  on  their  high  aim  intent, 

And  strive  the  more,  the  more  the  perils  throng : 

So  sails  my  soul  for  that  pacific  sea, 
The  pole  and  vertex  of  her  different  sphere, 
Where  equatorial  sway  and  swift  career 

Are  charmed  and  changed  to  fast  tranquillity  : 


Il6  MY  OPEN  POLAR  SEA. 

Beyond  where  storms  can  beat  she  there  shall  be, 

Safe  locked  in  blissful  calms  through  all  her  year  ; 

Unquiet  hope  no  more,  unquiet  fear, 
Can  vex  her  perfect  peace  and  fair  degree : 

But  she  must  tend  her  sail,  and  smite  her  oar, 
And  take  meanwhile  the  buffet  of  the  tide  ; 

Nor,  when  she  hears  the  rending  icebergs  roar 
Upon  her,  tremble,  but,  abashed,  abide 

To  enter  that  strait  gate  and  dreadful  door — 
This  portal  passed,  lo,  havens  free  and  wide  ! 


WHOSOEVER.  117 


WHOSOEVER. 

LIKE  a  quick  sunbeam,  parted  from  the  sun, 
And  lightly  speeding  on  his  way  through  space, 
That  plies,  nor  tires,  but  plies  the  forward  chase, 

As  counting  yet  his  journey  just  begun, 

How  many  goals  soever,  touched  and  won, 
And  kindling  from  the  kisses  of  his  face, 
Along  the  gleaming  rearward  of  the  race, 

Entice  him  to  esteem  his  errand  done  ; 
Lighting  on  whatsoever  thing  he  meet, 

Abiding  wheresoever  he  alight — 

Guest  to  abide,  but  courier  on  to  fleet, 

So  ceasing  never  from  still-ceasing  flight — 
Yet   swerves  he  not,  though   heart  of  grace,   to 
greet 

What  errs  from  his  strict  path,  to  left  or  right : 

Such  the  swift  Angel  of  His  Presence  sent, 
Winged  with  a  whosoever,  from  the  throne, 
Who  flies  in  flame  and  flies  to  every  zone 


Il8  WHOSOEVER. 

From  pole  to  pole  beneath  the  firmament, 
Charged  the  glad  tidings  of  their  Lord's  intent 

Toward  his  elect  obedient  to  make  known  ; 

Cinctured  with  speed,  he  flies  as  he  has  flown, 
Forever,  on  his  heavenly  errand  bent ; 

Lighting  to  bless  whatever  heart  he  meet, 
Abiding  there  wherever  he  alight — 

Guest  to  abide,  but  herald  forth  to  fleet, 
So  ceasing  still  from  still-unceasing  flight — 

Yet  turns  that  angel  aspect  not  to  greet 
Save  whosoever  WILL,  to  left  or  right. 


LOVE  AND    WILL.  119 


LOVE  AND  WILL. 


I  READ  her  wrong  at  first,  and  called  her  vain  ; 

I  saw  no  simple  nature  in  her  ways  ; 

All  fresh  first  thoughts  seemed  tangled  in  a  maze 
Of  conscious  tricks,  and  smiles  conceived  in  pain. 

She  was  a  gentle  woman,  pure  and  fair  ; 

Her  mind  was  radiant,  like  a  mansion  lit 

To  let  the  gleam  of  art  illumine  it — 
Such   sculptured   thoughts,    such   pictured   dreams 
were  there ! 

Her  girlish  heart,  too,  was  a  miracle 
For  such  a  tender  sparkle  of  kind  dews 
As  it  could  send,  to  soften  and  suffuse 

The  clear  gray  light  of  eyes  made  beautiful. 


120  LOVE  AND    WILL. 

But  something  froward  in  me  slandered  her, 
That  affectation  spoiled  what  else  were  sweet ; 
So  naught  of  all  she  did  or  said  could  meet 

My  evil  mind,  that  ever  made  demur. 


ii. 


I  used,  when  days  were  dark  and  life  was  pain, 
To  lapse  for  comfort  into  thoughts  of  Christ ; 
'Twas  sweet  to  cease,  and  sink  imparadised 

In  love  that  always  changed  my  loss  to  gain. 

That  morn  I  walked  beneath  a  gladsome  sun, 
In  the  fresh  fields,  amid  the  vital  air  ; 
Importunate  joy  around  me  everywhere 

Stormed  at  my  heart  if  entrance  might  be  won; 

In  vain.     My  dull,  cold  heart  refused  to  sing  ; 
She  would  not,  could  not,  join  the  jocund  tune 
Of  the  blithe  weather  and  the  wealthy  June — 

"Peace   first,"   she   cried,    "some  joy  from    peace 
might  spring." 


LOVE  AND    WILL.  121 

But  ever  a  divine  enchantment  strong 
Held  me  suspense  from  sinking  into  rest : 
"O  Christ,"  I  said,  "  I  seek  thy  cradling  breast, 

Child  that  I  am,  too  tired  to  wait  so  long ! " 

"  Not  tired  enough,"  such  sense  I  seemed  to  draw, 
"  Strong    still   to    hold   thy    heart    from   loving, 

Nay, 
Not  to  be  tired  is  childlike,  but  to  obey  ; 

Love  is  delight,  but  love  is  also  law." 


"  Amen,  O  Lord,"  out  broke  the  quick  reply  ; 

"  Yea,  and  henceforth  law  too  shall  be  delight. 

Behold !  I  meet  thy  will,  in  will's  despite, 
And,  bidden,  love — the  bidding  reason  why." 


in. 


As  when  sometimes  the  baffled  hearkening  sense 
Is  conscious  of  a  kind  of  filmy  slide, 
That  parts  it  from  the  world  of  sound  outside, 

And  blurs  each  audible  image  issuing  thence, 


122  LOVE  AND    WILL. 

And  idle  rumors  fill  the  brain  self-bred, 
Noisily  null  pretences  of  right  sound, 
That  ring,  and  roar,  and  rumble,  and  redound, 

But  bring  no  message  to  the  half-crazed  head  ; 

Suddenly  then  that  membranous  wall  will  break, 
That  deafening  din  of  void  confusion  cease, 
And  to  the  grateful  ear  again  at  peace 

The  silent  world  of  outward  -sound  awake  : 

So  fared  it  with  my  heart,  when  I  obeyed  ; 

That  seizure  of  enchantment  gave  me  free  ; 

At  once  I  was  where  I  desired  to  be, 
In  balmy  rest  upon  His  bosom  laid. 

Out  of  that  peace  upleapt  a  sudden  song, 
Artesian  inlet  from  the  general  mirth 
Of  the  glad  sun  and  the  sun-gladdened  earth— 

Upleapt,  aspired,  exulted,  and  was  strong. 

IV. 

Love  had  been  law,  out  love  became  delight, 
And  love  become  delight  gave  other  eyes 
Wherewith  to  read  the  loved  one  otherwise, 

Redeemed  to  wholly  fair  when  read  aright. 


LOVE  AND    WILL.  123 

Lovely  she  was,  and  lovelier  ever  grew 

To  the  purged  eyes  of  love  that  saw  the  truth, 
Till  thither  she,  and  yet  in  lovely  youth, 

Where  all  is  love  and  love  is  all,  withdrew. 

Love  for  delight  is  insecure  delight, 

But  love  for  law  becomes  delight  indeed  ; 
Such  love's  delight  is  an  immortal  meed, 

It  laughs  at  loss,  or  change,  or  death's  despite. 

I  love  her  changed  to  silent,  and  rejoice  ; 
*  For  what  she  was,  I  love  her,  here  of  yore  ; 
For  what  she  is,  and  there  forevermore 
Shall  be,  I  love  her,  hearkening  for  her  voice  ! 


124  AT  THE  SUPPER. 


AT  THE  SUPPER. 

I  SAT  at  supper  with  the  guests  of  Christ 
One  summer  Sabbath's  tranced  afternoon, 
When  not  a  breath  perturbed  the  perfect  tune, 

Though  but  a  breath  to  break  it  had  sufficed. 

We  charmed  within  this  sphere  of  worldly  calm, 

t 
A  calm  not  worldly  charmed  us  in  its  sphere  ; 

We  sat  in  silence,  but  we  seemed  to  hear 
Pulses  of  other  silence,  like  a  psalm. 

The  sense  was  of  a  voice  that  whispered,  Peace  ! 

And  hands  outstretched  that  benediction  poured ; 

Love  grew  sweet  pain,  and  so  around  the  board 
A  hymn  arose  that  gave  our  love  release. 

Then,  grave  and  sweet,  some  rhythmic  scriptures  read, 
Echoing  clear  from  holy  long  ago, 
Told  us  of  trust  in  Him  as  rest  from  woe — 

Woe  of  the  laden  heart  and  laboring  head, 


AT  THE  SUPPLER.  12$ 

And,  like  an  exhalation,  prayer  aspired  ; 

Born  of  the  earth,  but  born  to  brooding  skies, 
A  weight  of  want  with  leavening  wish  to  rise, 

And  buoyed  by  faith  that  was  what  it  desired. 

My  heart  was  broken  with  the  broken  bread  ; 

I  saw  the  broken  body  of  the  Lord  ; 

Broken  therewith  was  every  wish  that  warred 
In  me  against  his  wish  that  for  me  bled. 

I  bowed  me  praying,  and  so  praying  felt 
The  presence  of  a  brother  unforgiven ; 
I  did  not  hate  nor  scorn,  but  I  had  driven 

Him  heart  from  heart  with  grace  ungracious  dealt. 

I  leaned  and  wept,  and  loved  and  longed  and  wept ; 

And  when  the  wine  was  poured  that  meant  His 
blood, 

My  heart  was  wholly  melted  in  the  flood 
Of  one  strong  mastership  that  o'er  me  swept. 

I  thought  how  lavish  His  forgiveness  was, 

How  He  had  poured  His  pardon  without  stint 
In  rivers  of  blood  upon  a  heart  of  flint, 

And  used  no  measure,  made  no  careful  pause. 


126  AT  THE  SUPPER. 

Bitterly  sweet  the  rapture  of  my  pain, 
But  I  went  out  wholesomely  comforted  ; 
I  told  my  brother  all  the  Lord  had  said, 

And  we  forgave  each  other  with  tears  again. 


ENTICED.  127 


ENTICED. 


WITH  what  clear  guile  of  gracious  love  enticed, 
I  follow  forward,  as  from  room  to  room, 
Through  doors  that  open  into  light  from  gloom, 

To  find,  and  lose,  and  find  again  the  Christ ! 

He  stands  and  knocks,  and  bids  me  ope  the  door ; 
Without  he  stands,  and  asks  to  enter  in  : 
Why  should  he  seek  a  shelter  sad  with  sin  ? 

Will  he  but  knock  and  ask,  and  nothing  more  ? 

He  knows  what  ways  I  take  to  shut  my  heart, 

And  if  he  will  he  can  himself  undo 

My  foolish  fastenings,  or  by  force  break  through, 
Nor  wait  till  I  fulfil  my  needless  part. 

But  nay,  he  will  not  choose  to  enter  so, — 
He  will  not  be  my  guest  till  I  consent, 
Nor,  though  I  say,  Come  in,  is  he  content ; 

I  must  arise  and  ope,  or  he  will  go. 


128  ENTICED. 

He  shall  not  go  ;  I  do  arise  and  ope, — 

"  Come  in,  dear  Lord,  come  in  and  sup  with  me, 
O,  blessed  guest,  and  let  me  sup  with  thee," — 

Where  is  the  door  ?  for  in  this  dark  I  grope, 

And  cannot  find  it  soon  enough  ;  my  hand, 
Shut  hard,  holds  fast  the  one  sure  key  I  need, 
And  trembles,  shaken  with  its  eager  heed  ; 

No  other  key  will  answer  my  demand. 

The  door  between  is  some  command  undone  ; 
Obedience  is  the  key  that  slides  the  bar, 
And  lets  him  in,  who  stands  so  near,  so  far ; 

The  doors  are  many,  but  the  key  is  one. 

Which  door,  dear  Lord  ?  knock,  speak,  that  I  may 

know ; 

Hark,  heart,  he  answers  with  his  hand  and  voice, — 
O,  still  small  sign,  I  tremble  and  rejoice, 

Nor  longer  doubt  which  way  my  feet  must  go. 

Full  lief  and  soon  this  door  would  open  too, 
If  once  my  key  might  find  the  narrow  slit 
Which,  being  so  narrow,  is  so  hard  to  hit, — 

But  lo  !  one  little  ray  that  glimmers  through, 


ENTICED.  129 

Not  spreading  light,  but  lighting  to  the  light, — 
Now  steady,  hand,  for  good  speed's  sake  be  slow, 
One  straight  right  aim,  a  pulse  of  pressure,  so, — 

How  small,  how  great,  the   change   from   dark  to 
bright ! 


n. 


Now  he  is  here  I  seem  no  longer  here  ! 

This  place  of  light  is  not  my  chamber  dim, 

It  is  not  he  with  me,  but  I  with  him, 
And  host,  not  guest,  he  breaks  the  bread  of  cheer. 

• 

I  was  borne  onward  at  his  greeting, — he 

Earthward  had  come,  but  heavenward  I  had  gone  ; 
Drawing  him  hither,  I  was  thither  drawn, 

Scarce  welcoming  him  to  hear  him  welcome  me  ! 

I  lie  upon  the  bosom  of  my  Lord, 

And  feel  his  heart,  and  time  my  heart  thereby ; 

The  tune  so  sweet,  I  have  no  need  to  try, 
But  rest  and  trust  and  beat  the  perfect  chord. 


130  ENTICED. 

A  little  while  I  lie  upon  his  heart, 

Feasting  on  love,  and  loving  there  to  feast, 
And  then  once  more  the  shadows  are  increased 

Around  me,  and  I  feel  my  Lord  depart. 

Again  alone,  but  in  a  farther  place 

I  sit  with  darkness,  waiting  for  a  sign  ; 
Again  I  hear  the  same  sweet  plea  divine, 

And  suit,  outside,  of  hospitable  grace. 

This  is  his  guile, — he  makes  me  act  the  host 
To  shelter  him,  and  lo  !  he  shelters  me  ; 
Asking  for  alms,  he  summons  me  to  be 

A  guest  at  banquets  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

So,  on  and  on,  through  many  an  opening  door 
That  gladly  opens  to  the  key  I  bring,      « 
From  brightening   court  to  court  of   Christ   my 
King, 

Hope-led,  love-fed,  I  journey  evermore. 

At  last  I  trust  these  changing  scenes  will  cease  ; 

There  is  a  court,  I  hear,  where  he  abides ; 

No  door  beyond,  that  further  glory  hides, — 
My  host  at  home,  all  change  is  changed  to  peace. 


DEDICATION  HYMN.  131 


DEDICATION    HYMN. 

WHAT  we  have  builded,  Lord,  be  thine  ; 

Thy  gift  we  give  again  to  thee  ; 
Hither  now  cause  thy  face  to  shine, 

Accepted  let  our  offering  be. 

Have  we  not  builded  for  thy  name  ? 

Here  thy  great  name  in  grace  record  ; 
Visit  the  place  in  hallowing  flame, 

And  fill  it  with  thy  Spirit,  Lord ! 
». 

Souls  in  that  fulness  plunged  and  lost, 
That  awful  baptism  from  above, 

Reap  a  perpetual  Pentecost 

Of  power  and  wisdom,  joy  and  love. 

Thus,  Lord,  baptized  from  thee  to  learn, 
Or  thus  from  thee  baptized  to  teach, 

Here  with  one  passion  may  we  burn, 
Christ  and  his  Cross  to  live  and  preach ! 


132  ANNIVERSARY  HYMN. 


ANNIVERSARY   HYMN. 

O  THOU,  with  whom  a  thousand  years 

And  a  swift  day  are  one, 
Behold,  our  human  hopes  and  fears 

A  little  round  have  run. 

Hopes  for  thy  cause,  ennobling  hopes  ! 

How  foolish  all  the  fears  ! 
Shamed  were  a  faith  that  droops  and  gropes, 

Since  such  accomplished  years. 

Our  hearts  are  large  with  thankfulness ; 

We  glory  in  the  Lord  ; 
His  Spirit  doth  our  spirits  press 

As  we  his  grace  record. 

Short  rest  in  camp,  then  forth  for  fight ! 

Welcome  the  long  campaign  ! 
Girded  with  meekness  and  with  might, 

Spread  we  Immanuel's  reign. 


ANNIVERSARY  HYMN,  133 

Like  the  blue  bending  firmament, 

That  kingdom  yet  must  span, 
From  shore  to  shore,  a  continent 

Redeemed  to  God  for  man  ! 


134  NATIONAL  HYMN. 


NATIONAL  HYMN. 

A  NATION  to  the  God  of  nations  now 

Peal  high  the  paean  of  your  thankful  praise  ! 

All  voices,  Holy,  holy,  holy  Thou, 

Hosanna,  Lord  of  hosts  !  the  triumph  raise. 

O  God  amen  !    We  thank  thee  for  the  grace, 
The  glory  of  the  grace  that  on  this  land      • 

Has  beamed  in  sunshine  from  thy  smiling  face, 
And  streamed  in  bounty  from  thine  open  hand. 

And,  Lord,  we  thank  thee  for  the  Sinai  cloud 
That  threatened  long  the  long-suspended  stroke ; 

How  with  hearts  humbled,  and  with  faces  bowed, 
We  wept   and    worshipped    when   that  thunder 
broke  ! 

At  thy  rebuke,  O  God,  the  tempest,  fled  ; 

At  thy  behest  thy  bow  appeared  on  high  ; 
We  saw,  and  walked  with  hope-elated  tread, 

Held  by  thy  hand  and  guided  by  thine  eye. 


NATIONAL   HYMN.  135 

We  face  our  future,  glorying  in  the  Lord ; 

We  welcome  all  thou  shalt  for  us  provide  ; 
With  God  for  our  exceeding  great  reward, 

Rich  we  shall  be  whatever  fail  beside  ! 


WEBSTER 


AN   ODE 


O  nostrum  et  decus  et  columen  ! 


1782-1852 


IN    GRATEFUL 


AND  AFFECTIONATE   TOKEN   OF   FELLOWSHIP 


FOUND   IN   SYMPATHY   OF 


ADUIRATION   AND   REVERENCE   FOR   WEBSTER 


TO 


MY   FRIEND 


HALBERT  STEVENS  GREENLEAF 


WEBSTER:   AN  ODE.  139 


WEBSTER  :  AN  ODE. 


YE  see  him  truly,  now  : 
Their  hour  and  power  is  past 

Who  fain  had  shamed  that  brow 
It  wears  its  crown  at  last. 

Hail  him,  his  countrymen  ! 
First  of  your  foremost  few, 

Given  back  to  you  again 
Yet  greater  than  ye  knew. 

Greater — for,  good  and  great ; 
Not  false,  as  they  forswore  ! 

He,  who  to  save  the  State 
The  State  to  please  forbore. 

Well  may  the  State  he  saved — 
Saved  at  such  cost  of  blame, 

While  still  her  mood  he  braved- 
Accord  him,  late,  his  fame  ! 


140  WEBSTER:    AN   ODE. 


II. 


So  sang  the  poet,  rendered  bold  and  wise 
By  the  fine  joy  he  found  in  being  just  ; 
Wise  to  foreknow  what  should  be,  therefore  must, 

Bold  to  foredate  it  with  creating  eyes. 

But  the  State  hearkening,  jealous  for  her  name, 
Heard  that   sharp  challenge  of  her  thanks  and 

praise  : 
What  did  he  to  deserve  such  meed  ?  she  says : 

Speak  out,  lone  voice,  and  here  rehearse  his  claim. 

O  State,  he  said,  for,  lo,  thou  knowest  it  all, 

Might  I  be  silent,  and  wouldst  praise  him  thou  ! 
The    public    hand    should    wreathe   this    public 
brow, 

And  the  great  dead  awaits  his  Country's  call. 

Rash  individual  voice,  speak  what  thou  will, 
To  hear  is  mine,  the  sovereign  State  replies  : 
Me  it  behooves  to  wait  and  to  be  wise, 

With  equal  ear  weighing  the  good,  the  ill. 


WEBSTER:   AN  ODE.  141 

0  just  and  reverend  State — the  poet  spake — 
Much  musing  lest  ill  heard  so  loud  and  long 
Have  needs  ere  now  full  nigh  forestalled  the  song, 

1  sing — for  his,  and  thine,  and  mine  own  sake. 


in. 

At  that  not  ancient  date 

Before  thou  grewest  great, 
He  knew  thee,  and  he  loved  thee  well,  O  State  ! 
For,  hearing  oft  thine  early  tale  rehearsed, 

The  boy  was  from  the  first 

In  patriot  wisdom  versed. 

Him  his  heroic  sire 

At  evening  by  his  fire 

Taught  the  pure  passion  of  his  own  desire — 
Desire  for  thee  that  thou  shouldst  prosper  long 

And  be  too  wise  and  strong 

To  do  or  suffer  wrong. 

Wide  hopes  he  learned  for  thee, 
His  country,  soon  to  be 
Wide  as  his  hopes  outspread  from  sea  to  sea  : 


142  WEBSTER:   AN  ODE. 

Yet  were  his  hopes  as  wise  as  they  were  wide, 
For  conscience  was  as  guide 
And  prophet  to  his  pride. 

Thence  thee,  O  State,  yet  young, 

He  with  prophetic  tongue 
Chid  to  sit  still  when  sore  with  passion  stung  : 
His  age  ripe  earlier  than  thy  longer  youth, 

With  more  experienced  ruth, 

Knew  to  advise  thee  truth. 

True  things  for  pleasant,  he, 

With  Roman  firmness  free 
From  too  much  pity  or  awe,  proposed  to  thee  : 
Such  virtue  of  clear  counsel,  in  the  blood 

Streams,  an  ennobling  flood, 

From  father  wise  and  good. 


IV. 


Bred  in  his  father's  simple  school  severe, 
Where  sober  godly  fear 
And  filial  awe  were  dear, 


WEBSTER:   AN  ODE.  143 

He  learned  that  saving  sense 
Of  bond  to  duty,  whence 
Flow  to  us  still  these  streams  of  good  immense. 

For  not  alone  his  fealty  to  the  State 

Rescued  us  in  those  great 

Hinges  of  fear  and  fate, 

When,  under  skies  of  gloom, 

He,  hearkening,  knew  the  boom 
That  burst  at  last  in  thunder-peals  of  doom  : 

His  forty  years  of  great  example,  too, 

Staunchly,  in  all  men's  view, 

To  its  own  promise  true, 

A  fashion  slowly  wrought 

In  us,  unheeding  taught, 
Kindred  with  him  in  our  habitual  thought. 

The  man  was  more  than  the  great  words  he  spoke  : 
This  weighted  every  stroke 
Of  speech  that  from  him  broke — 
That  grave  Websterian  speech  ! 
What  sovereign  touch  and  reach 

Empowered  it  from  the  man,  to  tone  and  teach  ! 


144  WEBSTER:   AN  ODE. 

So,  mother  State,  our  schooling  once  begun 

Under  thy  WASHINGTON 

Advanced  with  this  thy  son  : 

His  equal  mood  sedate, 

Self-governing,  wise  to  wait, 
Reverent  toward  God,  he  shared  to  thee,  O  State  ! 


v. 


He  gladdened  in  the  gladsome  light 

Of  jurisprudence,  and  that  light  he  made 
More  gladsome  for  thy  children — such  the  might 
Wherewith  the  right, 
In  wrong's  despite, 
This  conquering  knight 
Bore  off  in  rescue  from  the  field  of  fight, 
Those  bloodless  jousts  of  law  that  drew  his  dreaded 
blade. 


His  Dartmouth — thine,   O   State,  and   his — he 

found 
With  ills  beleaguered  round, 


WEBSTER:    AN  ODE.  145 

Helpless,  of  crafty  foes  the  purposed  pre^fc 

The  lists  were  set 
One  famous  final  day, 

And  lances  met 
In  tourney,  and  fair  Dartmouth  trembling  lay, 

With  scarce  a  breath, 

Dreading  her  doom,  a  trouble  worse  than  death. 
But  lo,  a  lance 
She  sees  advance, 

Sees  a  fresh  lance  ride  up  and  plunge  into  the  fray. 
To  right  and  left  the  field  gives  way, 
Nor  bides  that  shock  to  meet. 
He  charges  to  the  judges'  seat ; 
Onset  of  argument, 
Volley  of  precedent, 
Tempest  of  eloquent 
Logic  and  learning  blent, 
Deluging  blows  on  blows, 
He  overthrows  his  foes. 
Her  foes  are  overthrown, 
Dartmouth  will  have  her  own. 
Cheer  thee,  O  cherishing  mother,  in  thy  son, 
His  task  for  thee  is  done, 
Thy  battle  fought  and  won. 
7 


146  WEBSTER:   AN  ODE. 

Beholders,  you  may  go 
That  have  seen  this  overthrow  : 
Why  do  they  linger  so  ? 
A  sight  that  well  might  draw 

The  wonder  of  the  field, 
The  victor  knight  they  saw, 

That  steel-clad  knight,  unclasp  his  dint-proof  shield, 
Then — all  his  mighty  heart  uncovered  there, 
His  tender  mighty  heart  to  view  laid  bare, 
The  filial  in  him  to  its  depths  astir — 
Go  with  his  heart,  as  that  a  buckler  were, 
Grieved  that  he  could  not  bring  a  costlier, 
And  standing  by  his  mother  cover  her  ! 
Such  passion  of  great  pity  strikes  an  awe 
Even  into  breasts  that  sit  to  judge  the  law. 
From  the  august  enthronement  where  he  sate 
By  MARSHALL'S  side,  that  pillar  of  the  State, 
STORY  looks  down  with  bland  surprise, 
The    friend's   proud   gladness   beaming   in  his 

eyes  : 

He  drops  the  habitual  pen, 
Nor  takes  it  up  again  ; 
Each  weighty  word, 
Before,  he  duly  heard, 


WEBSTER:   AN  ODE.  147 

But  now  transfixed  he  sees  the  speaker  speak, 
While  Spartan  tears  roll,  one   by  one,  down  MAR- 
SHALL'S cheek. 

•  4  . » 

Thus  then  it  there  befell 
That  justice  prospered  well, 
And  Dartmouth  held  her  right 
By  the  valor  of  this  knight, 
And  this  knight,  O  State,  was  he 
Whom,  with  unequal  praise,  I  praise  to  thee. 


VI. 


Implicit  in  her  cause,  O  State,  the  cause 
Of  many  another  of  thy  schools  was  won, 

And  large  the  sequel  was  ^ 

Beyond  the  sanguine  guess  of  thy  sagacious  son. 

A  thousand  seats  of  learning  freed 

'    Leapt  at  that  pregnant  stroke  : 
Broken,  they  said,  the  intolerable  yoke 

Meant  to  subdue  us  servile  to  the  greed 
Of  scramblers  in  the  legislative  hall — 
Each  of  us  there  a  partisan  foot-ball 

For  rogues  to  kick  and  scuffle  for  at  need — 


148  WEBSTER:   AN  ODE. 

That  fatal  forming  yoke 

Smiting  he  broke, 
Once  as  with  flail  of  oak 
Smiting,  loTfever  broke. 

Henceforth,  they  sang,  O  State,  thy  sacred  trusts 
Of  bountiful  bestowment  shall  retain 
Their  plighted  dedication,  to  remain, 

Inviolable  all, 

Secure  alike  from  the  rapacious  lusts 
And  from  the  whimsies  raw 
Of  demagogues  and  tamperers  with  the  law, 
Mad  with  desire  of  gain 
And  unchastised  of  awe. 

So  sang  the  choir  of  colleges  aloud 

That  their  rejoicing  rang, 

And  they  moreover  sang  : 
Now  every  use  and  beauty  be  endowed 
With  wealth  to  make  them  through  long  futures 

live. 

No  more  misgivings  stint  your  giving  !     Give, 
Ye  sons  and  daughters  of  a  noble  State  : 

Pledged  are  your  gifts  from  fate. 

Nor  long  do  answers  wait : 


WEBSTER:    AN  ODE.  149 

In  golden  streams  with  emulous  haste  outpoured, 
On  every  hand 
Throughout  the  land, 

From  broken  coffers  flows  the  escaping  hoard. 
Science  lifts  up  her  voice 
In  gladness,  and  rejoice 
Letters  and  art,  and  want  and  woe  the  while 

Sweet  pity  and  love  beguile 
To  dry  their  tears,  be  comforted  and  smile. 
.  A  better  alchemy  transmuted  gold 
Backward  to  blessings  manifold  ; 
And   these,   O    State,  thy   gains   through   him,  are 

they 

Greatly,  whereby  thou  standest  and  art  strong 
And  beautiful,  O  State,  this  day, 
And  yet  to  ages  long, 
We  trust,  we  pray, 
A  theme  of  love  and  thanks,  of  eloquence  and  song. 


VII. 


Thy  commerce,  too,  that  bond  to  bind  thee  one, 
He  served  at  point  of  need 
When  a  pernicious  seed 


ISO  WEBSTER:   AN  ODE. 

Planted  and  fostered  in  it,  had  begun, 

Struggling  toward  air  and  sun, 
To  promise  fruit  of  brother  feud  and  strife 
And  menace  to  thy  life. 
O  State,  bethink  thee  well, 
How,  woven  in  words  of  law 
And  specious  to  inspire  obedient  awe, 

A  charm  of  false  enchantment  fell 
Once  on  that  river  wide  of  thy  domain, 

A  sinister  spell, 
And  broadcast  sown  on  all  his  watery  train. 

It  did  not  stay  the  waters  in  their  flow, 
The   tide's  great   stress,  the   current,   still  were 

strong ; 
But  to  each  cruising  keel  that  clove  along 

And  asked  that  way  to  go, 

It  used  its  lust  to  answer  yes  or  no, 

And  wantonly  more  often  answered  no. 

From  harbor  mouth  to  river  head, 

From  stream  to  stream  and  lake  to  lake, 
That  evil  spell  was  like  to  spread, 

And  thy  one  web  of  commerce  make 
A  thousand  tatters  torn  and  shred 


WEBSTER:   AN  ODE.  151 

Then  a  wise  master  of  the  spell  appeared, 
To  solve  its  magic  bond  : 
He  waved  no  wizard  wand 
Reverse,  nor  counter  incantation  whispered  weird  : 

Simply  the  truth  he  spoke, 
With  truth  the  charm  of  falsehood  broke  ; 
Daring  thy  law  above  the  law  invoke, 
That  young  unmeasured  might  from  sleep  once  more 

he  woke. 
Thenceforth,  O  State,  from  fountain  head  to 

sea 
Thy  waters  all  to  every  keel  were  free. 

'  Of  many  one,' 

The  motto  for  thy  commerce  from  thy  son  ; 
As  one  of  many  thou 
Thyself  in  sequel  now 

Art,  and  shalt  be,  while  oceans  roll  and  rivers 
run. 


VIII. 


He  taught  thy  court  of  law  to  hear 
Speech  of  a  strain  that  there  has  since  been  mute, 
Clear  ethic  tone,  or  Christian,  that  went  near 


152  WEBSTER:    AN  ODE. 

To  charge  and  change  the  place's  atmosphere, 
And  give  it  higher  other  attribute 
Than  highest  grave  juridical  dispute. 
With  wonder  and  with  awe 

Men  saw 

The  lawyer  leave  the  law, 
Or  raise  it  rather,  while  with  easy  ascent 
Rising  to  his  sublimer  argument 
He  spoke  to  listening  bench  and  bar 
And  reverent  popular  ear  that  heard  from  far, 

Of  Christ  and  of  Christ's  grace 
To  children,  little  children,  of  our  race. 

And  conscience,  that  dread  might  within  the  breast, 
How  thrice  more  dreadful  made 
Seemed  it,  as  he  portrayed 
The  goad  inexorable  that  gave  no  rest, 
No  pause,  but  ever  urged  and  pressed 
The  sleepless  guilty  soul,  till  he  confessed. 
Mute  now  these  high  forensic  strains, 
Long  mute,  O  State,  but  not  their  influence  spent : 
The  memory  and  tradition  yet  remains 
Transmitted,  safe  among  thy  glorious  gains 
Through  him,  thy  son,  a  force  and  element 


WEBSTER:   AN  ODE.  153 

To  lawyers  for  a  less  unworthy  aim, 
And  spur  to  spurn  ignoble  ends  with  noble  shame. 


IX. 


Nor  served  thee  not  that  large  bucolic  life, 
So  simply  lived,  and  grandly — simply,  though 

Report  and  rumor  rife 
And  general  gaze  that  could  not  gaze  its  fill 

Made  it  a  spectacle  and  show, 
Whereof    men    pleased     themselves    with    fabling 

still. 
He  could  not  stay  or  go, 

Could  not  at  will 

Unbend  in  casual  jest,  in  manly  sport, 
But   some,  for  love  or  thrift,  would  spread  a  wide 

report. 

The  sun  cannot  be  hid 
The  heavens  amid, 
The  sun  is  seen,  because  he  shines, 
And  the  sun  shines,  because  he  is  the  sun, 

And,  sun-like,  WEBSTER'S  lines 
Out  into  all  the  earth  afar  were  run. 
7* 


154  WEBSTER:   AN  ODE. 

Such  was  the  man,  and  so 
His  private  life  was  public ;  all  he  did, 

Or  said,  or  was,  was  known, 
And  nothing  could  be  hid  ; 
And  nothing  needed,  for  his  ways  were  good, 
His  most  unguarded  ways,  and  safely  shown. 

His  noble  simple  ways 
Supplied  the  speech  of  men  with  daily  food 

For  honest  praise — 

Not  idle,  since  to  praise  the  good  and  fair 
Is  to  grow  like,  through  habit,  unaware. 
Men  liked  to  hear  and  tell 
How    farmer's    garb    became    the    great    man 

well : 

And  everywhere  the  farmer  felt  more  space, 
An  ampler  air,  a  franker  grace, 
Ennoble  his  vocation,  with  the  thought, 
HE  is  a  farmer,  WEBSTER  so  has  wrought. 
Somewhat  more  noble  they  already  who 
Learn  to  think  nobly  of  the  work  they  do. 
So  a  diffusive  lesson  of  far  reach 
Thy  WEBSTER  taught,  not  studious  to  teach, 
(As  too  he  pleased,  not  studious  to  please) 
When  but  he  slipped  the  customary  weight 


WEBSTER:   AN  ODE.  155 

Of  public  duty,  or  the  lawyer's  toil, 

For  intervals  of  ease 
Sought  in  returns  to  that  estate 
From  which  he  sprang,  swart  worker  in  the  soil. 

His  way  in  farming  all  men  knew  ; 
Way  wide,  forecasting,  free, 

A  liberal  tilth  that  made  the  tiller  poor. 
That  huge  Websterian  plough  what  furrows  drew ! 
Through  fallows  fattened  from  the  barren  sea. 
Yoked  to  that  plough  and  matched  for  mighty 

size, 

What  oxen  moved  ! — in  progress  equal,  sure, 
Unconscious  of  resistance,  as  of  force 
Not  finite,  elemental,  like  his  own, 

Taking  its  way  with  unimpeded  course. 
He  loved  to  look  into  their  meek  brown  eyes, 
That  with  a  light  of  love  half  human  shone 

Calmly  on  him  from  out  the  ample  front, 
While,  with  a  kind  of  mutual,  wise, 
Mute  recognition  of  some  kin, 

Superior  to  surprise, 
And  schooled  by  immemorial  wont, 
They  seemed  to  say,  We  let  him  in, 


I $6  WEBSTER:   AN  ODE. 

He  is  of  us,  he  is,  by  natural  dower, 
One  in  our  brotherhood  of  great  and  peaceful  power. 

So,  when  he  came  to  die 

At  Marshfield  by  the  sea, 
And  now  the  end  is  nigh, 

Up  from  the  pleasant  lea 
Move  his  dumb  friends  in  solemn,  slow, 
Funereal  procession,  and  before 

Their  master's  door 
In  melancholy  file  compassionately  go  ; 
He  will  be  glad  to  see  his  trusty  friends  once  more. 
Now  let  him  look  a  look  that  shall  suffice, 
Lo,  let  the  dying  man 
Take  all  the  peace  he  can 

From  those  large  tranquil  brows  and  deep  soft  eyes. 
Rest  it  will  be  to  him, 
Before  his  eyes  grow  dim, 
To  bathe  his  aged  eyes  in  one  deep  gaze 
Commingled  with  old  days, 
On  faces  of  such  friends  sincere, 
With  fondness  brought  from  boyhood,  dear. 

Farewell,  a  long  look  and  the  last, 
And  these  have  turned  and  passed. 


WEBSTER:    AN  ODE.  157 

Henceforth  he  will  no  more, 

As  was  his  wont  before, 

Step  forth  from  yonder  door 
To  taste  the  freshness  of  the  early  dawn, 

The  whiteness  of  the  sky, 

The  whitening  stars  on  high, 

The  dews  yet  white  that  lie 
Far  spread  in  pearl  upon  the  glimmering  lawn  ; 

Never  at  evening  go, 

Sole  pacing  to  and  fro, 

With  musing  step  and  slow, 
Beneath  the  cope  of  heaven  set  thick  with  stars, 

Considering  by  whose  hand 

Those  works,  in  wisdom  planned, 

Were  fashioned,  and  still  stand 
Serenely  fast  and  fair  above  these  earthly  jars. 

Never  again.     Forth  he  will  soon  be  brought 
By  neighbors  that  have  loved  him,  having  known, 

Plain  farmers,  with  the  farmer's  natural  thought 
And  feeling,  sympathetic  to  his  own. 

All  in  a  temperate  air,  a  golden  light, 
Rich  with  October,  sad  with  afternoon, 

Fitly  let  him  be  laid,  with  rustic  rite, 
To  rest  amid  the  ripened  harvest  boon. 


158  WEBSTER:   AN  ODE. 

He  loved  the  ocean's  mighty  murmur  deep, 
And  this  shall  lull  him  through  his  dreamless  sleep. 
But  those  plain  men  will  speak  above  his  head, 
This  is  a  lonesome  world,  and  WEBSTER  dead  ! 

Be  sure,  O  State,  that  he, 
So  great,  so  simple,  wrought  for  thee, 
By  only  being  what  he  could  but  be. 
But  how  for  thee,  with  pain  and  travail  dear 
He  wrought,  this  yet  some  space  I  pray  thee  further 
hear. 


x. 


Plymouth  Rock  and  Bunker  Hill  fast  anchored 
stand,  to  stand  for  aye 

Part  and  parcel  of  thy  mainland,  as  they  stand  se- 
cure to-day  ; 

Part  and  parcel  of  thy  story,  wedded  one  with  thee 
in  fate, 

These  fair  names  are  sealed  to  glory  fadeless  as 
thine  own,  O  State  ! 

But  as  fast  as  Rock  or  Hill  is  rooted  in  thine  earthy 
breast, 


WEBSTER:   AN  ODE.  159 

And  as  fast  as  their  brave  memory  elings  and  clasps 

thee  East  and  West, 
Even  so  fast,  forever  blended,  braid  in  braid,  and 

strand  with  strand, 
With  them  WEBSTER,  name  and  fame,  is  bound  in 

one  unsundered  band. 
Words  are  deeds,  and   in  these   places  words  were 

spoken  by  thy  son, 
Dear  to  memory,  dear  and  deathless,  as  the  deeds 

that  here  were  done. 

O  the  joy,   the  exultation,   that   by  him  had  voice 

at  length, 
Then  when  first   the  new-born  nation  guessed   the 

greatness  of  its  strength  ! 
How  like  ocean  to  his  bases  by  the  breath  of  tempest 

stirred, 
Did  those  seas  of  upturned  faces  surge  beneath  his 

spoken  word  ! 

Young  he  was  then,  with  his  country,   and  he  felt 

the  wine  of  youth 
Leap  along  his  bounding  pulses  in  those  morning 

paths  of  truth. 


160  WEBSTER:   AN  ODE. 

The  exultant  young  emotion   in  the  multitudinous 

heart 
Of  the  people  that  to  live  for  was  his  chosen  patriot 

part, 
Seemed  to  find  in  his  one  bosom  room  capacious  of 

it  all, 
Where  with  flood  and  ebb  like  ocean  it  could  heave 

in  rise  and  fall. 
Yet  his  words  of  cheer  were  sober,  and  he  checked 

and  chastened  joy, 
Teaching  us,  by  heed  of  duty,  in  the  man  to  merge 

the  boy. 

Then  to  see  him,  then  to  hear  him,  speaking  for 
his  country's  cause, 

Roused,  yet  showing  that  unbounded  might  unroused 
within  him  was, 

All  the  inward  man  in  motion,  mind,  and  heart,  and 
soul,  and  will, 

Meet  the  outward  man  to  match  it  and  its  great  de- 
sire fulfil — 

Height  elate,  transfigured  feature,  majesty  sublime 
with  grace, 

Glorious  in  the  awful  beauty  of  Olympian  form  and 
face  ; 


WEBSTER:    AN  ODE.  l6l 

Voice  that  like  the  pealing  clarion  clear  above  the 
battle  loud 

Pierced  and  thrilled  the  dinning  noises  of  the  mixed 
tumultuous  crowd  ; 

Thought  that  smote  like  bolted  thunder,  passion  like 
the  central  fires 

Underneath  the  rocked  volcano  tossing  to  and  fro 
its  spires ; 

Slow  imagination  kindling,  kindling  slow,  but  flam- 
ing vast 

Over  the  wide  tract  of  reason  its  far-beaming  ray  to 
cast ; 

Single  words  like  stalwart  warriors,  of  those  mailed 
knights  of  old, 

Standing  unsupported  ready  for  the  champion  com- 
•  bat  bold  ; 

Words  again  in  serried  order,  like  an  irresistible 
host 

Moving  as  one  man  in  measure,  with  a  tread  to  shake 
the  coast — 

Eloquence  rapt  into  action,  action  like  a  god,  sub- 
lime— 

O  the  life,  the  light,  the  splendor,  of  that  flush  efful- 
gent prime  ! 


1 62  WEBSTER:   AN  ODE. 


XL 


And  thine  he  was,  O  State,  this  matchless  man  ; 
The  statesman  still,  whether  in  popular  speech 
He  pleased  yet  awed  the  great  promiscuous  throng 
And  taught  them  that  grave  wisdom  intermixed 
With  memories  and  with  hopes  inspiring  joy, 
Staid  joy  and  wholesome,  purged  of  vain  conceit ; 
Or  in  discourse  statelier  and  more  august, 
Decent  in  his  magnificent  array, 
He  stood  to  speak  before  the  flower  and  choice 
Frequent  of  all  the  learning  of  the  land  ; 
Or  in  the  senate,  prime  among  his  peers, 
Consulting  and  disputing  matters  high 
Of  general  concernment  ;  or  in  turn 
A  counsellor  of  presidents,  and  wise 
Head  of  ambassadors  to  nations,  firm 
And  prudent  opportunely  to  devise 
The  equal  mutual  league,  forestalling  war, 
That  knits  kin  states  in  peace  and  amity ; 
Nay,  even  in  legal  argument  full  oft, 
Defending  private  causes,  his  large  thought, 
Prompt  in  presaging  heed  of  consequence, 


WEBSTER:   AN  ODE.  163 

Engaged  him  to  a  circumspection  wide 

Of  what  might  help  or  harm  the  commonwealth  : 

Ever  the  statesman — this  his  statesmanship, 

To  keep  thee  whole  and  one  to  be  a  state, 

A  state,  and  not  that  lamentable  doom 

A  hundred  petty  fragments  of  thyself, 

Weakling  and  warring,  each  the  prey  of  each, 

And  each  and  all  the  prey  of  foreign  states, 

Whichever     need     or     greed     or     chance     might 

tempt 

To  tamper  here  with  some  poor  sovereignty, 
Belike  republic  called,  the  paltry  prize 
Of  liberators  and  dictators,  each 
Mad  to  usurp  his  turn  of  brief  misrule, 
And  vex  his  time  the  victim  of  his  lust — 
An  endless  line  I  seem  to  see  them  rise, 
Of  ever  worse  succession — sequel  sad, 
Unutterable,  burlesque  and  irony 
Of    that   which   was  —  of   that   which   might    have 

been, 

Much  more,  nay  is,  or  is,  we  trust,  to  be, 
Since    still    thou    art,    O    State,    and    still,    though 

changed, 
Art  whole  and  one,  survivor  of  such  ills  ! 


1 64  WEBSTER:    AN   ODE. 

That  thou  art  such  as  now  thou  art,  and  not 
Forever  such  as  late  thou  wert  too  long, 
That  land  foreboded,  rent  with  civil  feuds, 
Nay,  drenched,  worse  boding,  with  fraternal  blood- 
Thank  him,  thank  WEBSTER  chief  among  thy  sons, 
Thy  sons  so  many  noble,  chiefly  him. 
These  all  loved  thee,  but  he  more  wisely  well, 
Foreseeing  farther,  therefore  differently, 
And  differently  devising  for  thy  weal. 
Good  patriots  all  alike  they  were,  O  State, 
And  lovers  true  of  Freedom,  mete  them  praise, 
Their  equal  meed,  full  thanks  and  reverence  due. 
Bestow,  stint  not,  they  stinted  not  for  thee, 
Thou  happy  mother,  rich  in  generous  sons  : 
To  thank  their  generous  sons  is  thrift  for  states. 
So  always  WEBSTER  taught  and  practiced  ;  praise 
To  render,  to  receive,  was  his  delight, 
Such  the  childlikeness  of  his  rich  warm  heart. 
Late  now,  but  praise  him  as  of  yore  though  late, — 
Praise  fits  this  master  in  the  art  of  praise  ! 
ADAMS  and  JEFFERSON,  in  fate  and  fame 
Equalled  by  that  conjunction  in  their  death — 
With  what  majestic  eulogy  those  twain 
He  fixed  as  stars  of  a  new  Gemini 


WEBSTER:    AN  ODE.  165 

In  the  clear  upper  sky  with  WASHINGTON, 

And  with  what  joy  rejoiced  and  bade  rejoice 

To  hail  them  there,  celestial  auspices 

Joined  to  the  clustering  constellated  light 

Of  the  kind  heavens  above  our  country  bent, 

Fresh  beams  to  guide  and  cheer  our  walk  beneath  ! 

His  praise  was  such  that  praise  from  him  was  fame. 

His  father's  fame,  his  brother's  too,  is  this, 

That  DANIEL  praised  them.     How,  amid 

The  jubilant  acclamation  loud  that  once 

Hailed  him  in  sudden  chorus  round  the  world 

DEFENDER  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION,  how 

Did  that  affectionate  heart  to  kindred  true 

Miss  from  the  song  the  hushed  voice  of  his  brother  ! 

It  was  his  childlike  weakness  to  love  praise, 

But  love  with  praise  he  hungered  for  like  food. 

But  praise,  they  say,  at  last  corrupted  him 
Degenerate  from  his  first  simplicity, 
Touched  him  austere  with  pride  and  loftiness, 
(His  very  greatness  making  him  less  great,) 
Hindered  those  frugal  manners  which  had  graced 
Such  greatness,  and  as  pattern  borne  fair  fruit — 
Not  so,  believe  them  not,  they  saw  amiss  : 


1 66  WEBSTER:   AN  ODE. 

Miscalled  it  pride,  his  scorn  of  popular  arts  ; 

Hardness  miscalled  that  sad  sincerity 

Of  wisdom  weary  to  have  taught  in  vain  ; 

Miscalled  it  spendthrift  and  luxurious  sloth, 

That  open  purse,  that  unconcern  to  thrive  ; 

Light  reck  of  due,  unheeding  hand  and  bond 

Miscalled  that  all-engaging  negligence 

And  habit  of  improvident  delay, 

Born  of  upright  intention  sure  of  self, 

Joyful  good  will,  and  utter  trust  of  friends. 

The  wronged  great,  sad,  sincere,  and  simple  heart ! 

Nay,  what  if  he  herein  had  erred  indeed, 
And  those  forsooth  had  gleaned  a  little  flaw 
Of  less  than  perfect  manly  in  the  man  ? 
Sure,  to  such  public  virtue  private  fault 
Not  -sordid,  and  so  small,  might  be  forgiven  ! 

More  to  abhor,  abhorrent  more  to  truth, 
Lies  foully  fit  to  that  soft  social  heart 
And  genial  warmth  of  vital  temperament, 
The  tales  they  forge  of  reason,  conscience,  will — 
That  reason,  and  that  conscience,  and  that  will ! — 
Through  sensual  appetite  sold  into  shame  : 


WEBSTER:   AN   ODE.  167 

Shame  that  had  been  a  tragedy  of  shame  ! 
And  shame  that  should,  for  me,  abide  not  hid, 
Full  shown,  a  blot  of  contrast  boldly  black 
Against  the  clear  large  splendor  of  his  fame. 

Still,  mother  State,  and  though  the  hideous  lie 
Were  hideous  truth,  still,  I  would  plead  forgive, 
Blame,  but  forgive,  nor  cast  the  shadow  wide, 
Making  it  one  eclipse  to  darken  all. 

But  pity  and  forgiveness  proudly  spare  ! 
Simple  and  pure,  though  faultless  not,  yet  pure, 
Even  to  the  end  thy  grave  great  son  remained. 
Heed  thou  them  not  that  bid  thee  wail  him  fallen  ! 
No  spirit  fallen  and  reprobate  and  lost 
Inhabiting  a  body  ulcerate 

And  sapped  and  foul  with  sins  of  sense,  the  maa 
Who  still  in  reft  old  age  could  overmatch, 
Repeating  them,  those  miracles  of  his  prime, 
Twice  wrought,  O  State,  for  thee,  and  twice  postpone 
Thine  imminent  doom  ;  postpone,  but  not  avert 
The  inevitable  !     Yet  to  postpone  was  much, 
And  saved  thee — from  thy  fate  it  could  not — through 
Thy  fate,  beyond  it,  and  despite.     Full  soon 


1 68  WEBSTER:    AN  ODE. 

It  came,  the  inexorable  hour,  and  found 
Thee  ready,  not  too  ready,  to  receive 
The  dreadful  guest  with  meet  return  of  grim 
Abrupt  fierce  salutation,  eye  to  eye. 


XII. 


O  the  magnificent  firm  front  of  fight; 
Sportive  and  firm,  as  joyful  with  the  joy 
Of  youth  and  strength  presaging  victory, 
Which  he  that  earlier  fateful  day  opposed, 
Single,  to  the  whole  phalanx  of  thy  foes ! 
A  gallant  chieftain  led  them  on,  with  gay 
Audacity,  and  festive  challenge  flung, 
To  tempt  the  adversary.     The  august 
Repose  with  which  that  adversary  took 
Unmoved  the  shock  of  onset  haply  seemed 
To  them  deceived,  insensibility 
Or  dull  capitulation  to  defeat ; 
Not,  what  it  was,  the  tranquil  rest  of  power 
At  ease  supping  refreshment.     Came  betimes 
Full  undeceiving.     Roused,  at  length,  self-roused, 
He  moved  and  muttered  thunder.     Musical 
And  low  that  prelude,  but  it  boded  storm. 


WEBSTER:   AN  ODE,  169 

Storm  lingered  and  the  lovely  lightning  played 
Some  space  gently  and  terribly  its  lithe 
And  lambent  beautiful  wild  play,  while  yet, 
Lulled  in  the  cavernous  bosom  of  its  cloud, 
Dreamed  the  reluctant  thunderbolt  asleep. 
It  woke  and  on  the  wings  of  lightning  flew, 
Legion  its  name,  and  all  the  sky  was  fire. 
Revealed  within  his  lightning,  there  he  stood, 
The   thunderer   stood,    and   chose   from   out    his 

store 

Of  thunder,  piled  huge  tiers,  all  moulds, 
Thunder  alive,  each  bolt,  and  each  awake 
Now,  and  uneasy,  eager  to  be  sped. 
From  these,  with  leisurely  celerity 
His  missile  messengers  he  chose,  and  charged 
Them  to  make  haste.     Already  they  had  flown  : 
Unhooded,  from  that  dread  right  hand  they  flew, 
They  fled,  they  fell,  falcons  of  fire,  and  found 
Their  quarry  slain  with  terror  ere  with  wound. 

At  last  one  farewell  long  melodious  roll 
Of  boltless  thunder  mellow  with  remorse 
And  pathos  for  his  country,  and  he  ceased  : 
Clear  sky  again  and  cheerful  sun  in  heaven. 


I/O  WEBSTER:  AN  ODE. 

Those  foes  discomfited  were  thine,  O  State, 
Thine,  therefore  his,  and  therefore  overthrown. 
A  fruitful  fateful  hour  it  was  for  thee, 
For  him  glorious,  and  well  with  glory  crowned. 
Yet  glory  more  he  merited,  and  more 
Costly  to  him,  nor  gainful  less  to  thee, 
When  after,  all  the  flush  of  youth  retired, 
And  that  unanimous  auxiliar  hope 
And  sympathy  of  his  fellows  which  before 
Buoyed  him  elate  upon  the  billowy  breast 
Of  popularity,  a  rising  tide— 
This  absent,  and  proposed  to  him  the  dire 
Necessity  of  seeming  for  a  time, 
To  some  pure  spirits  intense,  false  to  the  plight 
And  promise  that  he  swore  with  younger  lips 
To    Freedom  —  yea,    and   it    being    moreover 

dark 

And  doubtful  whether  all  were  not  in  vain 
To  do  or  suffer  for  a  cause  foregone — 
He  yet  stood  and  withstood  for  thee,  O  State, 
O  Union,  and  for  thee  forbore  his  fame  : 
For  thee,  O  Union,  stood,  nor  less  for  thee, 
O  Freedom,  since  thou  Freedom  wast 
By  Union,  and  not  otherwise,  to  thrive. 


WEBSTER:   AN  ODE.  IJl 

So  then  this  strong  vicarious  spirit  strove, 
Not  one  brief  hour  of  uttermost  agony, 
Dreadful  and  swift,  but  days,  and  weeks,  and  months, 
Of  inexhaustible  patience  and  slow  strength, 
For  us,  and  greatly  stood,  until  he  died 
But  did  not  fall.     Unfallen  he  died,  nor  fell 
Dying,  nor  yet  being  dead  was  fallen  but  stood. 
Throughout,  and  to  the  end,  and  on  beyond 
The  end,  and  endlessly,  he  stood — and  held 
These  standing  both,  Union  with  Liberty, 
Inseparably  one,  upright  and  safe  : 
The  toiling  elements  tugged  at  him  in  vain. 

XIII. 

Fixed,  like  the  pole, 
He  stood,  whatever  moved, 

As  if,  though  sole, 
The  shock  to  take,  and  break,  it  him  behooved. 

The  shock  he  broke  ; 
The  multitudinous  main 

Its  waves  awoke, 
Woke  all  its  waves,  and  stormed  the  rock  in  vain. 


1/2  WEBSTER:   AN  ODE. 

To  join  the  waves, 
The  mustering  winds  went  forth 

From  all  their  caves, 
Against  him,  West  and  East  and  South  and  North. 

The  spinning  void 
Of  whirlwind  humming  by 

In  its  cycloid, 
Paused,  on  that  seated  strength  its  strength  to  try. 

And  the  floods  came  : 
Deep  called  to  deep  aloud 

Through  the  great  frame 
Of  nature,  'twixt  the  billow  and  the  cloud. 

And  deluge  rolled, 
From  pole  to  pole  one  tide, 

Waste  as  of  old, 
And  weltering  shouldered  huge  against  his  side. 

The  thunderbolt, 
As  when  that  Titan  world 

Rose  in  revolt, 
Hot  through  the  kindling  air  amain  was  hurled  ; 


WEBSTER:    AN   ODE.  173 

And,  whence  it  slept, 
Like  a  Swift  sword  unsheathed, 

The  lightning  leapt, 
And  round  him  its  fierce  arms  of  flame  enwreathed. 

The  rending  throes 
Of  earthquake,  to  and  fro, 

From  their  repose 
Rocked  the  perpetual  hills,  or  laid  them  low. 

And  still  he  stood — 
For  the  vexed  planet  still,  - 

Created  good, 
Was  whole,  and  held  her  course,  and  had  her  will. 

Around  him  cloud, 
Pale  spectre  of  spent  storm, 

Clung,  like  a  shroud, 
And  veiled  awhile  the  inviolable  form. 

But  umpire  Time, 
Serenely  wise  and  just, 

With  slow,  sublime, 
Unalterable  decision  and  august, 


1/4  WEBSTER:   AN  ODE. 

Cleansed  this  away, 
And  lo  !  the  glorious  front, 

In  candid  day, 
Resumed,  with  solemn  joy,  its  ancient  wont. 

On  the  grave  face 
Pain  suffered  and  subdued 

Had  worn  the  trace 
Of  woman's  passion  and  man's  fortitude. 

But  other  years, 
In  lengthening  pilgrim  train, 

Came,  and  with  tears 
Wept  out  of  thankful  and  remorseful  pain, 

Touched  each  deep  score 
That  furrowed  cheek  or  brow, 

Forevermore 
To  majesty  become  pathetic  now. 

And  men  said,  See  ! 
This  thunder-blasted  form, 

For  you  and  me 
Fain  once  to  take  the  fury  of  the  storm— 


WEBSTER:   AN  ODE.  175 

Is  it  not  fair  ? 
Come,  cluster  round  the  feet, 

Doubt  not  but  there 
Still  to  the  mighty  heart  our  praise  is  sweet. 


XIV. 


Forgive,  O  State, 
Forgive  me,  that  I  dare  anticipate 
That  which  shall  be  ; 

Clearly  I  see 
Emerge  the  crescent  of  his  fame  from  its  eclipse  : 

The  dawn  is  here, 
And  how  shall  I  refrain  my  lips 
From  singing  of  the  sunrise  seen  so  near, 

So  near,  so  dear  ? 
KE  knew  eventual  wisdom  with  thee  lay, 

And,  trusting  thee  with  a  prophetic  trust, 
Well  brooked  to  hear  the  hounds  of  faction  bay 

Confusing  thee  against  him  to  their  lust. 
He  loved  thee,  State,  with  self-postponing  love  : 
At  length,  through  him,  at  leisure  to  be  just, 
Pronounce,  I  pray, 
To-day, 


176  WEBSTER:   AN  ODE. 

Thy  late 'Well  done,' 

Well  won, 
Upon  thy  son, — 

Late,  but  full-voiced  and  penitent,  above 
His  dust. 


xv. 


Who  boldly  had  begun,  thus  softly  ceased  : 
Meek  with  his  joy  to  deem  the  dawn  increased. 


C.    R.  W. 


HARK!  179 


HARK! 

BY    C.    R.    W. 

A  TRUANT  child  o'ertaken  by  the  dark, 

In  sad  bewilderment,  where  two  ways  meet ; 
White  robes  of  morning  draggled  ;  and  her  feet 

Beclogged  with  mire  ;  and  many  a  bleeding  mark 

Of  awkward  reach  through  briers,  bristling  stark, 
For  flowers,  or  berries  which  she  dares  not  eat, 
But  clutches  still ;  scared  at  her  own  heart's  beat, 

And  crying  to  the  lonesome  sky.     When,  hark  ! 
A  voice  !     And  from  that  frightened  heart  a  voice 

Responsive,  thrilling  up  through  cloud  and  night ! 
"  My  child ! "  "O  father,  take  me  to- the  light ! " 
Her  apron  emptied  now  from  blessed  choice  ! 

Such,  Lord,  was  I,  when,  through  the  dark,  Thy  call 

Made  empty  all  my  heart  for  Thee,  my  All. 


ISO      TO  A  WALNUT  TREE  IN  OCTOBER. 


TO  A  WALNUT  TREE   IN   OCTOBER. 

BY   C.    R.    W. 

O  STARRY-CRESTED  wave  of  autumn  fire, 

In  rapturous  poise  before  my  feasting  eyes, 
Stirring  dim  memories  'neath  blissful  skies, 

Whereto  my  heart  doth  yearn, — poor,  tuneless  lyre! — 

And  to  whose  matchless  harmony  aspire  ! 
In  what  far  morning,  where  no  shadow  lies, 
Amid  what  echoes  of  the  glad  surprise 

When  light  was  born,  didst  weave  thy  strange  attire  ? 

Didst  garner  sunshine  from  the  emerald  wells 
Where  rainbows  sleep  ? — or,  in  the  hidden  ways 

Where  diamonds  sparkle,  fill  thy  thirsty  cells 
With  living  light  to  gild  these  perfect  days  ? 

No  voice  ! — though  such  desire  my  heart  impels 
To  win  thy  wondrous  meaning  while  I  gaze  ! 


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